


Elegy - Part Nine

by ElderberryWine



Series: Far From Home [10]
Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Part of the Far From Home series.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElderberryWine/pseuds/ElderberryWine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it seemed to Sam, that time stood still at Rivendell.  And how many times, after they had left, did he wish it had.  Part of the <i>Far From Home</i> quest series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was later, much later, that Sam came to appreciate the exquisite artistry that was Rivendell, the ancient home of the elves set beside the Falls of the Bruinen, and the last refuge of the house of Finrod on this Middle Earth. But for the first hour after he crossed the River and followed Strider, mounted still on Asfaloth, and bearing Merry and Pippin as well, up the stony steep walls of the river valley, all he was aware of was that Frodo was not far away from him, and that soon he'd be able to see him again. The barren slopes had given away to pines, and smaller trees beneath them, but Sam saw them not. The air was filled with an indescribable fragrance, as the afternoon shadows lengthened and lay before their path, but Sam was unaware of any of it. It was only Strider's straight back that he watched, on the tall proud white horse ahead, and his eyes were full of nothing but the last sight of Frodo's face; his eyes fixed on Sam's until Glorfindel came between them, and the look of utter yearning there as he had desperately stretched his hand out to Sam. It was the only thing to do, letting Frodo go, Sam kept feverishly repeating to himself; it was the only thing that he could have done. But Tom Bombadil's words were echoing in his ears, words that reinforced what his heart had told him, to not separate, to stay together, no matter the risk.

Trying to fight back down that sharp pain and the unrelenting uneasiness once more, he shook his head, and realized that there were elves coming to greet them, and that Strider was lifting Merry and Pippin down from his horse. Quickly he dismounted as well and caught up with them, Bill following him, as usual, with no need of rope or bridle. Strider was speaking rapidly, in a soft language that he did not understand, although he seemed to catch some elvish words from time to time. The elves were already beginning to lead Asfaloth off, presumably to a stable, and Sam hung back, feeling awkward, with Bill. Surely they would have no room for small ponies at such a place as this. Perhaps they wouldn't mind, though, if he left Bill to forage on the grass, until such a time as he could get back to him.

Strider was returning to him now though, as Merry and Pippin followed uncertainly behind him, and with a kind smile, he motioned to an elf whom Sam had not before noticed, standing to the side. "Lindelhir will take Bill, and watch over him," he said quietly to the nervous hobbit, unconsciously worrying the pony's rope. "Don't be concerned about Bill, Sam, you may come out to check on him when you wish."

Sam gulped, suddenly filled with terrors that were too great to consider, and gave Bill a last hesitant hug, reluctantly relinquishing the rope to the quiet elf. "I'll not be forgettin' you, Bill," he quickly murmured, as Strider and the other two had turned to leave. "But 'tis Frodo I must be seein' now."

There were buildings along the path that continued up the steep slope, and though Sam had no time to give them much heed, it seemed to him as though they grew among the tall pines somehow, but were far more ancient. There were a few elves about, however none spoke, neither to Strider nor each other. Yet he had the impression that he was hearing song, although whether it was from the wind in the pines, or the elves themselves, he could not have said. But finally there were arches through which they walked, Strider's pace unhurried yet more rapid than they were used to, and the three hobbits were hard-pressed to keep up and not appear to be running. And then they were inside, though they had not passed through any door, and were proceeding down a sunlit corridor, though there were no windows to be seen.

The corridor turned into a large room, richly appointed, and filled with sunlight. There was no time, however, to study the room, as unlike the grandest hobbit hole as could be, for in the middle of the room was an imposing figure, and Strider at once bowed before him, murmuring, "My Lord Elrond." The three hobbits immediately followed suit, and did not dare look up.

"Elessar," a deep voice responded quietly. "These, then, are his companions?"

At those words, Merry quickly raised his head, and bravely answered, "We are Frodo Baggins' companions, my lord, if that is what you wish to know. May we see him, please?" and the other two hopefully raised their heads as well.

The speaker, whom they now had a chance to study, was tall, as all elves were, but subtly imposing in a manner to which they were not accustomed. His steady clear glance seemed not to need their words to know what was in their hearts, and he examined them each, in turn, gravely and without comment. "The healers are with him now," he said at last. "He has been severely injured, indeed, and they will need all of their skill and attention. We will let you see him as soon as they have done what they can for him."

Merry began to speak, but Strider caught his eye with a quick frown and an almost imperceptible movement of his head to the way from which they had entered, and Merry bit his tongue and said nothing. Sam, who had been staring steadily at the elf, had given a slight movement of his shoulders that both other hobbits, and indeed Strider as well, had come to recognize by this time, but he also said nothing as the elf continued on, "Elessar can assist you in finding your room, where you may refresh yourself. You may await further word there."

Strider bowed once more, without comment, and the three hobbits followed him from the room, but not without some private decisions of their own.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

"Strider," Merry hissed, as the three hobbits followed the ranger from the room, and into the maze of corridors, courtyards, and balconies that was Rivendell. "We need to see him now, you know that."

Strider, not looking back as he walked rapidly ahead of them, held up a warning hand. "Patience, Merry," he murmured, giving a slight nod to the elves that they passed, eyeing them with only faint curiosity. "Wait until we are in your room."

Pippin exchanged a quick exasperated glance with Merry, but Sam said nothing and kept his eyes on Strider's back. The expression in those eyes, however, was uncharacteristically stormy, and his jaw was set.

Finally, they passed through one last small courtyard, sunny and filled with fragrant pots spilling over with rosemary and savoury, and centered by a graceful fountain, that filled the air with the gay splash of water over smooth stones. Through an archway on the opposite side they passed, and found themselves in a welcoming room with a fire already lit in the stone bordered fireplace, and two large beds, indeed, vast to their eyes, against the far wall. There were comfortable seats arranged before the fire, and the far wall opened out onto a balcony that they later discovered overlooked the river valley, and was near enough to the Falls that the spray could be felt on the afternoon breeze. There were flowers everywhere about the room, rich rugs in glorious patterns under foot, and warm soft blankets of rich muted colors scattered gracefully on the seats and beds.

But none of that luxury was noticed at the moment, as they stood facing Strider, anxiousness and anger obvious on all three of their faces. Strider, with a sigh, sat down on a settle, so that they did not need to look up to him.

"You need to be with him," he said simply. "I know that, but Lord Elrond does not. But I will help you find him now, even though I have reason to not wish Elrond to think ill of me. Leave your packs here then, and follow me. I suspect they have taken him to the healers' chambers." Gratefully, they instantly shed their packs, but before they started off again, Strider gave them a warning look. "I am but a guest here as well," he reminded them quietly. "I can but bring you to his room. I cannot allow any of you to stay, if the healers wish it not."

"Just you be takin' us there, Strider," Sam finally spoke, his voice rough. "You know we'd never do aught to hurt him, but we need to be seein' him."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

It wasn't long before they found the healers' chambers, and the number of elves entering and leaving the door of a certain room quickly confirmed Frodo's location. What they had not expected to see, however, was the tall grey figure, as well as the smaller one at his side, seated on a bench in the hall. "Mr. Bilbo!" Sam's voice caught as he hastened to the elderly hobbit. "Mr. Gandalf!"

Bilbo stood, as the other hobbits approached, and it was immediately evident to all three that Bilbo Baggins, at last, was showing his age. He caught up Sam's hands eagerly, as Sam stopped before him, and gave him a penetrating look. "Samwise Gamgee," he murmured softly. "Gandalf told me you'd be with him. And Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took as well?" he added, looking over at them with a bit of surprise. "You two I certainly did not expect, although I can't think of why not."

But Sam was in no mood for pleasantries, as he gave both Bilbo and Gandalf, silently sitting on the bench, and nursing a pipe, anxious glances. "Mr. Frodo," he said urgently, unconsciously lapsing into his former term of address in front of Bilbo. "How is he? Do you know?"

Gandalf then glanced up at Strider, who was quietly standing behind the hobbits. "Elessar," he said slowly, rising to his feet. "Well met indeed. You have done well to bring them here. But as for your question, Sam," he turned gravely to the fearful hobbit, "that we cannot tell you. He lies within, and the healers are doing what they can for him. We cannot but wait."

Sam, though, was in no mood for patience. "If we could just but see him," he cried distraughtly, giving Strider a beseeching look. Strider, after giving Gandalf a quick glance, silently answered Sam with a nod, as Merry and Pippin stood mutely behind him, waiting anxiously at the doorway.

"I will try," he murmured softly, and approaching the elves authoritatively, began to speak urgently to them. Despite the fact that the anxious hobbits could understand none of it, it was clear that Strider's words were finding no agreement with the elves. They said little, but shook their heads in a decisive manner, and Sam suddenly felt a vast impatience with all of this. Elvish healing might be all well and good, but that was his Frodo in there, and there wasn't an elf alive that was going to keep him out in this corridor a moment longer.

So when he noticed an elf entering the room with cloths over his arm and a basin of water in his hands, he quickly darted behind him and entered the room at his heels, ignoring the raised voices out in the corridor.

What he saw made his heart stand still. There were several elves about the side of an immense bed, but through them, he could see Frodo. He lay stripped bare and unconscious on the white sheeting, but there was blood all over his shoulder, and the coverings under his side were crimson as well. Sam's hands flew to his mouth, but he could not stop a moan of grief at seeing his beloved Frodo so small and vulnerable in this strange place.

There was an elf with a metal blade of some sort at Frodo's shoulder, and he looked up at Sam's entrance with an expression of surprise that quickly turned to distinct annoyance. He looked past Sam to Strider, who had followed him into the room, and rapidly said something to him that sounded irritated and abrupt. But Sam desperately stretched forward his hands and pleaded, not knowing if he could be understood, "Oh, please let me stay, sir! I'll not be bothering you. But I must stay with him, I could never bear not to."

The elf with the blade continued to look at him coolly, but one of the others made an exclamation as Frodo, at the sound of Sam's voice, turned his head, although still unconscious, and blindly and weakly stretched out his uninjured arm. Sam watched, frozen with fear and apprehension, as Strider, standing protectively behind him, lay gentle hands on Sam's shoulders. The first elf, who had glanced back in surprise at Frodo's movement, studied the hobbit on the bed for a few moments longer. He stood up then, handing the instrument to his assistant, and walked over to the intruders. Giving Sam a keen glance, he began to speak to Strider, and Strider answered back in urgent tones. Sam stood still, as the conversation continued on, watching the elves that were now tidying up around the bed, and reapplying the bandage to Frodo's shoulder, his heart pounding painfully, as he desperately hoped to be allowed to remain.

Strider, though, appeared to have reached a conclusion with the healer, for his grip on Sam's shoulders now tightened slightly, and he bowed briefly to the elf. Sam, managing to tear his gaze away from Frodo's still form for the moment, looked questioningly up to the man, who gave him a slight smile. "They told me this is the first movement that Frodo has made since he has been here," he told Sam quietly. "They have agreed to let the three of you see him, but for only a short while. I'll bring the other two in in a few moments." Releasing his clasp on Sam, he quickly left the room, as did the rest of the elves, and Sam was alone with Frodo.

In an instant, he was at Frodo's side, reaching a shaking hand out to touch him, and then Frodo's still face was in his hands and he was kissing Frodo blindly, hungrily, with short sobs of anguish, his tears falling on those pale immobile features, unable to say anything more than brokenly whispering Frodo's name. He knew that the others would be entering the room soon though, so reluctantly, he drew himself back up and hastily wiped his face with his hand. It was only then that he noticed the glint of gold, and saw the chain around Frodo's neck. Bewildered, for he had never known Frodo to wear anything of the sort, his eye followed the chain down the side of Frodo's pale neck, and, to his horror, saw what was nestled in Frodo's dark curls, the Ring. But the door was opening again, and with a swift protective gesture, he swiftly covered Frodo's torso with a blanket and turned to acknowledge the others.

Merry and Pippin quickly approached Sam as he stood at the side of the bed, and both instinctively reached out to touch Frodo; Merry, the gentlest of hands against his cheek, and Pippin, a trembling hand against his forehead, as Sam withdrew, and sagged against the side of the bed. "Frodo, oh, Frodo, dear," they called softly to their unconscious cousin, their voices soft and tearful, as they sought to summon him back to them. However, Frodo lay still, never moving, and the elves returned. Wretchedly, the two hobbits withdrew from the bed, hands tightly clasped, and let the elves return to Frodo.

In the meantime, though, Sam had come to his decision. Pulling Strider aside, who had been leaning wearily and sorrowfully in the doorway, he told him quietly, but with immoveable determination, "I'll not be goin' anywhere else, Strider, you may as well be tellin' them that. I'll not be in the way, but there's nowhere else I'm goin' but here. I need t'be with him, and he needs me t'be with him. I don't know if they'd be understanding that, but I know you do."

"I do know," Strider assured him sadly, "and I will do my best for you, Sam." But even as he approached the healer, one of the other elves, who had been examining Frodo, his hand on his forehead, glanced over and spoke rapidly to the first. There was a quick hurried conversation, and then the healer approached Strider and began to speak to him at length. Strider nodded from time to time, and seemed to ask an occasional question, and at last, the elves began to pack up their instruments in the wooden boxes that lay on a nearby table, obviously making preparations to leave the room, and Strider took a deep breath and sank down against the wall in a crouch. The three hobbits drew close to him, fearfully awaiting his explanation.

"You've done Frodo some good, it seems," he said in response, giving them the ghost of a smile. "Not only does it appear that he moved for the first time since he was brought here when you spoke to him, Sam, but now it looks as though his heartbeat has strengthened as well. They fear that there is yet some of the blade remaining in the wound," he continued, his expression becoming grim, "but they have now chosen to let him regain some strength, if possible, before continuing to treat him further." He looked directly at Sam, then, and went on. "They have agreed to let you stay with him tonight, Sam, but I'm afraid," he added, turning to the other two, "that the both of you may not."

Merry blinked, and swallowed hard, but nodded. "It's Sam that should be with him," he replied softly, bowing his head. "As long as there is one of us with him." Pippin was silent, but nodded as well, reaching for Merry's hand again and clutching it tightly.

Sam stopped them, though, before they could leave, placing his hands on both of their shoulders. "He loves the both o'you that much," he declared, firmly gripping their shoulders, and gazing fiercely into their eyes. "Never forget that. He'll be wantin' to see you both as soon as he opens his eyes."

Merry wordlessly ducked his head down, tears beginning at last to roll down his face, and Pippin gave Sam a fierce hug. They left, joining Bilbo, who had been standing quietly in the doorway, waiting for them.

Most of the elves had left by now, but one stood by the table, obviously awaiting Sam's attention, and if Sam could have estimated his age, for it seemed very hard to determine with elves, he would have guessed that this elf was young. He faced Sam, as the others left, and gave him a short bow, which surprised Sam greatly. "I am Halilhil," he stated softly in Common Speech. "I am here to be of assistance to you."

"Why, I do thankee kindly for that," Sam responded gratefully, as he stood at the side of the bed, feeling somewhat awkward, but with one of his hands unconsciously stealing around Frodo's good shoulder. "And I'm ever so obliged for all you've done for him, I can't be beginnin' t'tell you. I hope you folk didn't think me too forward, but I can't help but think that he'd be needin' one o'us with him."

Halilhil smiled in a friendly manner. "I believe the healer felt the same, and that is why you are here, Master Gamgee," he responded, with a trace of wryness. "And I might add that our healer rarely reassesses his opinions, so you may consider yourself persuasive indeed."

Sam gave him a brief smile, but then gazed back down at Frodo, so pale in the white bed that he could barely be told from the sheets, to Sam's mind. Only the dark curls and the red stain, already showing through his bandaged shoulder, were vivid against the whiteness. And his skin, under Sam's gentle touch, was too cold, to Sam's way of thinking. However it was when he moved his hand briefly to the left arm that he started in shock.

"Master Gamgee, what is it?" the elf cried immediately, approaching with concern.

" 'Tis like ice," Sam gasped, glancing up at the elf, with fear on his face.

The young elf nodded, and his face was suddenly shadowed by sorrow. "The Morgul knife," he murmured sadly. "It is most difficult to keep the warmth of life in one who has been pierced so, but have heart, Master Gamgee, he is fighting it most valiantly."

"Strider says that you'd be thinkin' there's a bit left," Sam gave him a steady look, clasping Frodo's chill left hand in both of his. "What will happen if you can't be gettin' it out?"

"It will make its way to his heart," the elf said softly, his eyes meeting Sam's. "And his heart will be as cold as his hand. He will be lost to this world forever."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Sam must have drifted to sleep, despite his best intentions, for when he groggily opened his eyes, all lights in the room were out, and the silvery moonlight was flooding through the tall open windows. The pale light bathed Frodo's pallid face, as he lay next to Sam in the white bed, but somehow, he had turned to Sam, and his sleeping features now faced Sam's on the large pillow they shared. Halilhil had insisted on Sam giving himself a quick wash, and had taken away his grimy and travel-stained clothing with a quickly disguised fastidious gesture of distaste. He had left Sam with a bowl of soup, since the hobbit had insisted that he was not in the least interested in food, and Sam had prudently rapidly devoured it. It made no sense to be fainting away from hunger on Frodo, but more substantial meals would have to wait. Halilhil had also left Sam with some sort of silken nightshirt, which Sam had quickly let slip to the floor, as soon as he was alone with Frodo. Right now, he needed to be feeling Frodo's skin against his, and no elvish sense of modesty was going to keep him from that. If they didn't have any idea of what Frodo meant to him, he expected that that situation would shortly be remedied. He did spare a quick thought as to Mr. Bilbo, but that explanation was going to have to be left to Merry and Pippin. At the moment, it did not matter in the least to him what anyone else could possibly think.

There was one more concern to be addressed, after he had climbed up into the great bed, next to Frodo. He lifted It off of Frodo's neck very carefully, cautiously touching only the chain, and gently raised Frodo's head to draw It up and off. What good the elves thought that hateful piece of gold was going to do Frodo, he couldn't imagine, but there was no doubt in his mind that both he and Frodo would have been far better off for never having seen It. Without a second thought, he let It fall on a table on the far side of the bed, and returned to Frodo.

But Frodo was still motionless and seemingly all but lifeless, as he crawled back across the great bed to be beside him, and even when Sam had wrapped his arms around him, and had kissed him repeatedly, and had called his name yearningly, had made no movement. The tears had come, once more, and his heart had ached as he fought to keep despair away. Somehow, in his anguish, he must have fallen asleep, and he had missed Frodo's movement.

He gazed at the beautiful face on the pillow next to his, and how many nights had he seen it thus, in their bed back at Bag End, but all he had to do would have been to stroke Frodo's cheek, to lightly kiss that delicious sharp nose, and the dusky lashes would have lifted, and those glorious eyes would have been looking deeply into his, and he would have heard that familiar dear laugh, and that warmly affectionate voice whispering his name. None of that was of any use now, however, and he carefully, cautiously wrapped himself around Frodo once more, and brokenly murmured, "I love you, Frodo, oh, I love you. Don't you be leavin' me now, my dearest one; just you stay with me, me darling."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

After they had left Frodo's room, Gandalf had quietly motioned Strider away from the others, and after a quick sharp glance at the both of them, Bilbo had drawn the other two hobbits, still stunned by all that had occurred, aside and murmured, "Here, now, lads, I'll be taking you back to your room. There's nothing else to be done here tonight."

Merry looked up dully at the older hobbit, his hand still tightly wrapped around Pippin's and nodded silently. Slowly they followed Bilbo, who seemed to know exactly where their room was, down the high open corridors of Rivendell.

The fire was burning as they had left it, and their packs were still on the floor where they had been so hastily dropped, burnished in the gold light of late afternoon. Bilbo said nothing as he matter-of-factly picked them up and placed them out of the way. He walked to a small table by the fire, and it was only then that the other two noticed that a tray of food had been left there in their absence, heaped with apples and dark plump grapes, and a golden loaf of bread. There was a bottle there, as well, and it was from that that Bilbo poured out two goblets of a dark liquid.

Turning back to Merry and Pippin, he gave them a small smile. "Here, my dear lads, this will do you both some good, I know. It's even better than Old Winyards, although I'd never let them know that. Go to their heads, it would, and they can be insufferable enough at times." Then, as neither of the younger hobbits moved, he repeated his offer, his voice softening. "There's nothing more, as I said, to be done for the night. Sit down, the both of you now, and tell me how you came to be here."

With a slight start, as if waking from a nightmare, Merry reached forward then, and gratefully accepted the goblet from Bilbo, sinking on the settle in front of the fire. Pippin silently did likewise, and with a satisfied nod, Bilbo poured a glass for himself, and settled into the well-pillowed chair beside the fire, absently tucking a soft woolen blanket about himself. "No concept of drafts, these folk," he grumbled mildly, his shrewd eyes watching the other two over the rim of his goblet, allowing them time.

The wine was excellent, as Bilbo had claimed, fragrant and heady, and the warmth of it began to course through Merry's weary limbs in no time at all. "You don't seem that surprised to see all of us here," he said after a few moment's silence, during which time nothing could be heard other than the crackling of the fire and the faint rustling of the pines outside the open windows.

"I do know why Frodo is here. We need not speak of that now," Bilbo said softly, giving Merry a pointed, but sympathetic glance. "I know what happened to him, as well, for Gandalf and I have been with him ever since he was brought here yesterday. The healer is very skilled, and if there is any living soul on Middle Earth who can help Frodo now, it would be him." He slowly took another sip, and then said musingly running a finger around the rim of his goblet. "Gandalf told me that Sam would be coming with Frodo, but what I'm not entirely sure of is the reason why. And I know that the fact that the two of you had accompanied Frodo was quite a surprise to Gandalf. Well, lads?"

"Well, we are here because cousin Frodo was in some sort of trouble, and wouldn't tell us what sort, so we tagged along until we could find out more," Merry said, somewhat haltingly, answering the easier question first.

Pippin now found his voice for the first time as well, as he sat quite close to Merry, his legs drawn up on the seat next to him. "He needed our help, even if he didn't think so at first," he added softly to Merry's comment.

"Did he now?" Bilbo watched them both steadily. "And Saradoc and Paladin felt it fitting that the both of you come along with him?"

Merry flushed at the combination of Bilbo's words and the strong wine, but before he could attempt an answer, Bilbo gave a soft chuckle, and kindly shook his head. "Pay no attention to this old fool, lad; you're weary and upset. There'll be plenty of time for me to be finding out about all the Shire doings, for I can't help admitting I've missed the place, many a time." He rose then, setting down his glass, and motioned to one side of the courtyard. "I've a few rooms, just down that way, and I'll show them to you when there's time. The elves did do their best, I must say, nearly like a proper hobbit hole, they are. But I'm sure the both of you will be needing rest, and I'll ask if they can bring in a decent meal in just a bit. There's a good size tub just beyond that draped doorway," he added, gesturing toward it, "and I daresay there's hot water in it already, so you can both have a bit of a soak. I doubt if you're up for much company tonight. I'll come by, first thing tomorrow, and we will go see how Frodo is doing."

Merry rose politely, but Bilbo turned just as he was about to leave and gave him a piercing glance. "Never answered my first question," he mentioned quietly.

"Erm, well, Sam lives with Frodo at Bag End now," Merry answered uncertainly.

"I see. And not to just see to the cooking, eh, lad?"

"No, it's more than that," Merry said steadily.

"Well, now," Bilbo gave him a wry smile. "There's always been more about Samwise than one would first think. Frodo's done rather well for himself, after all. Good night, lads."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Sam awoke the next morning, as the morning light streamed through the windows, and realized with a start that he had slept late. Immediately, he glanced at Frodo, lying in his arms, and was heartened to see that Frodo's breathing was steady, and that there was even a trace of pink in his pale cheeks. "Ah, me dear," he breathed, feeling hope beginning to hesitantly find its way back to his heart again. Lovingly, he reached a devoted hand up to stroke Frodo's face, and embraced him closely. The left arm was still far too cold, but the rest of Frodo was stretched against him, skin to skin, and Sam tucked his head against Frodo's shoulder, and lost himself in the feel of that dearest body against his, savoring the warmth of his beloved's flesh, almost hearing that cherished voice that murmured his name in his dreams. "Frodo-love, we're here, in Rivendell. And Mr. Bilbo's here, and Gandalf as well, and the elves are doing their best for you, me dearie. Open your eyes, my Frodo dearest, and look at me, love."

Frodo remained motionless, though, and not all his tender words could change that. Halilhil's soft knock startled him, though, and shyly he glanced up at the young elf who had entered the room. "My pardons," Halilhil said apologetically, "but the healer will soon be here. And," he added, uncertainly, "you might want to be wearing this." He picked up the nightshirt that he had brought in the night before for Sam, handing it to him tentatively.

"Aye, thankee," Sam blurted out, turning rather red. Without explanations, he threw it over his head and, sitting up next to the still oblivious Frodo, tugged it hastily on. No sooner had he done so, than there was a sudden noise at the door, and the healer walked in, followed by several other elves, carrying wooden cases in their hands.

The healer only gave Sam one sharp glance before turning his attention to his patient. "Hmm," he murmured, feeling Frodo's forehead, and then the strength of his pulse. Whatever his conclusion was regarding these matters was kept to himself, but he turned then to the bandaged shoulder, and wordlessly holding out a hand, received a small pair of scissors from an attentive assistant. With only a few snips, the bandage, darkened in the center with dried blood, was carefully pried off. Frodo sighed and frowned, but made no other sign of feeling it. Sam, feeling awkward about kneeling in the bed at Frodo's side, nevertheless awaited further instructions, his browned hand unconsciously wrapped about Frodo's undamaged shoulder. Then he saw the wound and his heart sank.

He had not really seen it since the last time Strider had tended it, as they huddled in the forests along the path to Rivendell, what now seemed like so very long ago. The slash was deeper and longer now, as a result, he dimly realized, of the elves' probing for the shard, but the most frightening sight was the red inflamed skin of the entire shoulder. In horror, Sam realized that he could even see dark red streaks under the skin, spreading from the shoulder down Frodo's left arm, and what was even worse, down across his chest. With a horrible sureness, Sam knew that those red streaks were poisonous, and that they were not so very far from Frodo's heart. Aghast, he raised his eyes, and met those of the healer, watching him intently.

The healer began to speak rapidly, and then paused, staring at Sam and seemingly waiting for a response. However, Halilhil was still at Sam's side, and quickly interpreted. "The healer wishes to know if you are strong enough to assist," he said softly, glancing from the elf to the hobbit. "He says that the sight may be distressing to you, but your friend clearly benefits from your presence, and that time is becoming short."

Sam nodded immediately. Distressing it might be, but the thought of being sent from the room was far more upsetting. "Good," Halilhil quietly replied, as the healer once again turned to his assistant, and received a clear glass vial with a long narrow opening, and colorless liquid within. Handing it over to Halilhil, he spoke rapidly for a few moments, and then turned his attention back to the instrument cases that another assistant held open for him.

"Hold his head up," Halilhil quietly instructed him, "and see if you can get him to drink. It is a sleeping potion, strong and fast acting, for we cannot chance his awaking. Slowly tilt it and pour it down his throat in small amounts."

Sam moved up in the bed then, and cautiously cradled Frodo's head in his lap. Stroking the curls lovingly from the pale forehead, he crooned to Frodo, nearly inaudibly, caring nothing for whatever the rest might think, and tried to pour the liquid into Frodo's mouth. Dimly, the memory of Mari with her little ones, trying to get the baby to swallow some healing draught, came back to him, and he gently caressed Frodo's throat, causing him to instinctively swallow. The healer muttered something, giving Sam an approving glance, but then he raised the knife and his face became stern again.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Merry awoke with the first dawn and looked around with some initial first confusion. Pippin was next to him, of course, his face buried in his shoulder, and still wrapped in Merry's protective embrace. The light streamed into the room through the high open windows, striking Pippin's curls that covered his face with glints of red and gold. The air was cool, but even though the room seemed strangely open, it was not unpleasantly chilly, and glancing down toward the foot of the high, wide bed, Merry noticed with surprise that the fire was once again cheerfully crackling, keeping the room quite pleasant, and he wondered indeed if it had ever gone out during the night.

Now was not the time, though, to contemplate the wonders of this elvish palace, for his thoughts immediately went back to Frodo. Kissing Pippin's forehead, he carefully removed his arm and leg from those of Pippin as they entwined him, and stealthily crept out of bed. Throwing a soft rug from the closest chair around his bare body, he walked through the open archway into the courtyard they had gone through the day before, trying to get his bearings, and determine in which direction Frodo's room lay, when he noticed two things. First, that there was a large tray covered with breakfast items, lying directly next to the opening to their room, and secondly, that Bilbo Baggins sat on a bench to the side of the courtyard, watching the water spraying merrily up from the fountain and glistening in the morning sun, calmly sipping a cup of tea.

"Ah, there you are, lad. It must be the long journey that keeps you so late abed this morning." The voice was calm and matter-of-fact, and Merry had the sudden feeling that he was a tween again, paying a visit to Frodo and Bilbo at Bag End. Generally, he had worn a sleeping garment at Bag End, however, and he unexpectedly felt rather embarrassed and not a little foolish. It seemed as if there was more news than Frodo and Sam's new arrangement with which to acquaint Bilbo, and as if he had voiced these thoughts out loud, Bilbo suddenly gave him a small wry smile. "Well, if it wasn't to be Frodo, I expect it would have been young Peregrin. I imagine Esme is not particularly delighted by all this?"

"Erm, ah, no, she isn't," stammered Merry, and at a loss for anything else to say, he nodded, and murmured, "I'll just be waking him up, then, Uncle Bilbo," and backed awkwardly back into the room.

"Bilbo's here, wake up," he hissed softly to Pippin, forced by the height of the great bed to crawl up again in order to give him an awakening shake. "He's having tea just outside the door, or at least where the door would be if there were a door in this confounded place."

"Oh, bother," Pippin yawned, obviously still more than half-asleep, but then sat up with a sudden start. "He didn't say anything about Frodo?" he asked, with a frown.

Merry shook his head. "He seems calm enough, I expect nothing's changed, but we do need to get dressed and find that room again. I certainly hope he has an idea where they're keeping Frodo and Sam, because this place hopelessly addles me."

Pippin stretched and clambered out of bed then, quite unconsciously naked, and after a cheerful wave to Bilbo, set off to look for their packs. There wasn't much in the way of a change left in them, but anything would be an improvement on what they had been wearing the day before. It wasn't long before they were both dressed, and with a quick swallow of tea, and a hastily eaten slice or two of bread, they were following Bilbo, who seemed to know his way about quite well, back to the healer's room.

They found Gandalf quietly sitting on the bench, outside of the room and smoking his pipe, much as he had been the night before, and he gave them a nod as he saw them approach. "They are searching for the shard again," he said softly, and rubbed his hand wearily across his forehead. "There nothing to be done but wait."

So wait they did, for what seemed like hours, to the anxious and impatient Merry. He knew that Pippin was just as concerned and nervous, but for once the young Took had nothing to say, and only unconsciously twisted his hands continuously in his lap. Bilbo appeared serene, taking out his pipe as well, but Merry could tell by the short puffs he was drawing on it that he was anything but.

Merry could occasionally hear voices, low and indistinct from the room, one of the very few in Rivendell, apparently, with an actual door. They were elvish voices though, and he heard nothing from either Sam or Frodo until, with a sharp clarity that caused all of the waiting party to hold their breaths in alarm, there came a wailing, harsh, choked cry of pain. There was nothing else from the room as they sat in such a silence that Merry was sure that he could hear Pippin's heart as well as his own, when the door suddenly opened.

It was Sam who slowly walked from the room, pale, and with dark circles under his eyes, and stains of what, Merry realized in dismay, must be Frodo's blood on the elvish garment that he was wearing, but with a small weary smile on his face. "They found it," he murmured, walking uncertainly toward them. "He'll be all right now."

With incoherent cries, both Merry and Pippin were instantly on their feet, and ran to embrace Sam, tears of relief falling down their faces, and Sam stood still for a moment, supported by the both of them, and closing his own eyes, wavered uncertainly on his feet. Then rallying himself once again, he nodded toward Bilbo and the wizard. Bilbo was fussing about with his pipe, but dabbing at his eyes from time to time as well, and was obviously unable, for the moment, to speak. Gandalf, his eyes suspiciously bright as well, gave the older hobbit a warm hug, and then stood up.

"My dear Samwise," he spoke gently, laying an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "That is indeed very good news, the best of news. There is much for us to say to each other, but not until Frodo is stronger. And that will be much sooner than the elves realize, I suspect. Once more, your folk have proven themselves strong and valiant indeed."

Merry didn't mind praise from the wizard, if somewhat second-hand, but he was quickly growing impatient. "May we see him yet, Sam?" he questioned the exhausted hobbit, who shook his head in reply.

"Not yet, I'm afraid, Merry," he said ruefully. "They need t'be closing up the wound, and bandaging it, and there'd be a bit of cleaning up to do, likewise. They sent me out too. Something about tidyin' up and havin' a bite to eat," he glanced down at himself apologetically. "With what they gave him to drink, he's not likely to be wakin' for quite some time."

"But if he was asleep, who gave that dreadful cry?" Pippin asked apprehensively, as he and Merry, both of them with their arms wrapped around Sam, escorted him back to their room, Bilbo silently following.

Sam gave a shudder and closed his eyes for a moment. " 'Twas poor Frodo, just as they found it," he said, nearly inaudible. "And I hope by all that's good that I never hear the like o'that again."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

It wasn't until they reached the courtyard in front of the hobbits' room that Bilbo finally spoke. "Just a moment, lads," he said rather gruffly, from behind them. "There's no point going in there. Pippin, go run inside, and see if they've brought back Sam's clothes. Then you lads will be coming with me."

Pippin did as he was bade, and quickly returned with Sam's cleaned clothes over his arm. "Thought as much," Bilbo muttered. "Efficient lot, there's no denying that." Without another word, he turned down the corridor across from their room, and the others followed. This corridor soon opened out onto a much larger courtyard, covered with grass instead of stone. There were flowerbeds, and a large alder, still full and green, with a small bench underneath it. The river valley opened up below them, just on the other side of a low carved stone balustrade, and the roar of the river faintly rose up to meet their ears. The most surprising element of the courtyard, however, was just past the alder, a round green door set into the hillside.

"Yes, a proper smial," Bilbo gave a satisfied glance their way. "Elves are really awfully accommodating, you know, and the feel of those great drafty halls of theirs just never seemed right, somehow. So they fixed this up for me." Walking ahead of the others, he opened the door, welcoming them in. "Step lively, lads, and come on in. Pot of tea will do us all some good, and none of us has had a proper breakfast, that I know."

Bustling down the hallway from the study that they had entered, he gave a look over his shoulder, and motioned to the others to follow. "Kitchen this way, plenty of room." The other three hobbits followed, still in a bit of shock at the unexpected surroundings. "Well then," Bilbo announced decisively, as they entered the cozy room, with the round window open to the valley side, and a well-used stone bordered fireplace on the other. "Pippin, give me a hand, lad. And Merry, the bath room is just through that door. Be a good fellow, and help draw a bath for Samwise, would you then? I doubt if he's had a chance to soak since he got here."

With a rather startled nod, Merry started about his task, and soon had a steamy tub of water ready for Sam, who had been sitting waiting at the kitchen table with a dazed expression on his face, uncharacteristically not lifting a hand to help the others. Merry gently tapped his shoulder, and Sam, with a start, then arose and followed him down the hall. He drew the blood-spattered garment over his head, and without a word, slowly sank into the tub, and then sat motionless, his knees drawn up with his arms around them, and his face hidden from view. Merry stood uncertainly for a moment, ready to leave, until he heard the sound of stifled sobs, and saw Sam's shoulder's shake.

"Here, now, Sam," he muttered softly, fighting to keep his own composure. He knelt then next to the tub, and hesitantly placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "It is going to be all right now, Gandalf even said so." Sam did not look up, and at a loss to do anything else, Merry picked up the bar of soap next to the tub, and slipping it quickly in the water beside Sam, began to lather it up in his hands. Soothingly, he reached out to Sam, and started to gently rub his back, working his hand against the tight muscles, messaging the tenseness away.

Sam made no movement of resistance, but the sobs began to lessen, and eventually, he reached down and splashed water on his face, turning around to Merry in the dimly lit room. "I was that scared," he murmured simply, laying a hand on Merry's arm. "You still don't know the worst o'it. If that cursed shard had reached his heart," and he stopped, gulping and fighting to continue to speak. Merry stared at the familiar round gentle face, so changed and made haggard in the last several days. "He would have worse than died," Sam at last got out as Merry watched him, bewildered. "He would have ended up with those black fiends forever."

Merry's eyes widened in horror, as he realized what Sam was saying. "Oh, Sam!" he gasped, his hand unconsciously tightly clutching Sam's shoulder.

"Aye," Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head forward again on his knees. "I didn't want t'be scaring both of you when there was naught you could do, but it's been that hard." For several moments, there was silence in the small steamy room, and all that could be heard was Pippin's indecipherable chatter from down the hall, and the occasional gruff word from Bilbo.

Then, resolutely, Sam straightened back up again, and laid a hand over Merry's, still on his shoulder. "You'd best be gettin' back to the others, Merry-love, or they'll come looking' for you, sure enough. I'll be right out, meself. And Merry," he added, with a small smile, " 'tis glad I am that you and Pip'd be with us, no mistake. Frodo might have thought otherwise, but he'd be dead wrong about that. He does get things wrong, sometimes, even though he hates to think so."

Merry gave him an uncertain smile in return. "Well, that would be why he needs you and I both about then," he answered sympathetically. "Neither one of us is especially loathe to point that fact out. Save him from himself, that's what we do."

 

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It wasn't long after they ate that they were back at Frodo's room, for none of them had any mind to stay away for long, but this time, they were met, to their surprise, by Strider, just leaving the room. "He is resting well," he informed them with a slight smile, "but don't expect to see him awake for awhile. The healer believes we mortals heal more rapidly when we are asleep. Or that we are less bother that way, I'm not sure which."

"Strider!" Merry and Pippin greeted him affectionately, giving him a quick hug each.

"Strider?" Bilbo raised an eyebrow. "This is a new name, Elessar."

"I have many names, my good hobbits, more than I care to keep track of sometimes," the man chuckled, and he seemed to Sam younger and far less careworn than he had since they had first met him in Bree. "Why don't the two of you go bid him good morning, and then I'll show you about."

Merry and Pippin did not need to be told twice, and immediately entered the room, but Sam hung back in the hallway, silent, as Bilbo sat on the bench in the hall again, producing his pipe once more. Strider studied him carefully, and then laid a hand upon his shoulder. "You brought him through, Sam," he said quietly.

Sam ducked his head down, and said nothing.

It was not long before Merry and Pippin emerged from the room, looking subdued, and brushing back a quick tear or two. "Come along then," Strider said gently to them, giving them an understanding look. "There's much to see here. And Frodo won't be up for at least a day or two."

After they had left, Sam immediately approached the door, and then turned, rather awkwardly, to Bilbo. "Would you like to see him first, Mr. Bilbo?" he asked, uncomfortably.

Bilbo shook his head, though, and gave a wave of his pipe. "I'll be in later, Samwise. Keep you a bit of company, if you like. Go on, then, and don't dawdle, there's the lad." Sam did not wait to hear more.

The room was lit with the clear morning light, shimmering as it struck the white bed, and the long billows of linen, hung on either side of the window openings, blew gracefully about in the fragrant air, casting swaying shadows upon the still white coverlet. Small and achingly vulnerable, however, in the midst of the bed, was a dark head, and Sam had eyes for nothing else. Frodo was lost in deep slumber, his face turned to the side, and was now dressed in a white garment, with the white linen of the bandage wrapped about his shoulder just showing at the throat. Sam watched the steady faint rise and fall of his chest for several moments before he could move, and felt the calm and the peace of the room fill his weary heart. Frodo had defeated the evil that had attempted to ensnare him, and had been restored to him. He would be healing now, and well Sam knew how tough and resilient he truly was despite his graceful appearance. Then it would be time to turn to the Shire again, and their beloved home together at Bag End.

Then there was no help for it, but he had to feel Frodo again in his arms, feel that cherished body in his embrace, and hold fast to the love he had so nearly lost. Carefully, he climbed up and onto the great bed, and slipping under the covers, wrapped his arms about Frodo, and positioned himself sitting propped up slightly against the pillows, allowing Frodo's head to come to rest against his chest. Tenderly, he brushed Frodo's hair back from his forehead, kissing him again and again. "Me dearie, me dearie," he sighed, closing his eyes as he laid his cheek against Frodo's dark curls. "Frodo, my own. You are with me still, dearest love."

It was nearly an hour later that he heard a gentle rap on the door, and Bilbo cautiously peered in. Sam fought the impulse, for just a moment, to withdraw, and then bravely held his position. But the small involuntary motion that he made must have reached Frodo, for Frodo stirred, for the first time, and although obviously still fast asleep, reached his wounded arm out and lay it across Sam's chest with an almost imperceptible sigh, and tucked his head slightly in against Sam.

Walking over to the bed, Bilbo studied the both of them silently, and Sam could not read his expression. Then, with a slight smile, he reached out and gently touched Frodo's cheek. "He knows your touch," he murmured, giving Sam a keen glance.

Sam couldn't help reddening at Bilbo's remark, but lifted his chin firmly. "Aye, and I his," he stated forthrightly.

Bilbo's smile broadened at his response, and he nodded to the chair beside the bed. "Care for company?" he asked lightly.

" 'Twould be right kind of you, sir," Sam murmured politely, his arms still quite full of Frodo.

"Sir, still, is it?" Bilbo chuckled, as he hoisted himself up the high chair with the ease born of experience. "I rather think Bilbo, or perhaps Uncle Bilbo, would do under the circumstances."

Sam shook his head at the notion. "I'm afraid that would never do," he replied apologetically. "'Twas that hard to get my tongue around Merry and Pippin, but I'm afraid you must go on being Mr. Bilbo, sir."

"Ah, some things about you have not changed a bit, Samwise," Bilbo laughed lightly at Sam's protestation. "The Gaffer trained you well, I expect. But how is the old fellow these days, and what would he be thinking of all this?" he asked, airily waving his hand in their direction.

"Quite well, thankee kindly, and not much, leastways, at the beginning," Sam answered, a small smile beginning to creep across his face as well.

"Well, that's not much of a surprise," Bilbo admitted, grinning back. "Now my dear Frodo-lad, I never saw him as the marrying sort, to be quite honest, but I always thought that it would be Merry. Certainly not you, Samwise. I would have expected you to be married and have fauntlings all about your feet, by now."

"There'd be others as felt the same," Sam confessed, his smile deepening. "And yet here we'd be."

"Well, now, well, now," Bilbo shook his head in bemusement. "Can't say as that isn't the best arrangement, actually. Merry's mother would never have let him hold on to Frodo, in the end. Master of Brandy Hall and all that rubbish. And how is dear Esme, anyway?"

And before Sam knew it, he was accounting for the doings of the Shire for the last many years to his old master, but the dear one he held gratefully in his arms was never out of his thoughts.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Moonlight streamed in brightly through the window when Sam opened his eyes. Somehow, he must have drifted off not too long after dinner. He had spent the entire day with Frodo as Bilbo, and later Merry and Pippin, not to mention Gandalf and Strider, as well as several elves, including Halilhil and even the healer, had all come and gone. Still Frodo slept, but his breathing had become even and strong, and a bit of pink was gradually starting to be apparent on his cheeks. Through it all, Sam had stayed, leaving only to quickly refresh himself with a light meal, and none had questioned his doing so. The last thing he could recollect was Pippin regaling Bilbo with the latest news of the Great Smials, as he lay out at the foot of the great bed, propped up against an amused Merry. He had closed his eyes for just the briefest of moments, and now here he was, alone with Frodo once again, in the still and silvered room.

Then he realized what must have awakened him, for Frodo, once again enveloped in his careful embrace, stirred and stretched, and then, wonder of wonders, blinked open his eyes and smiled sleepily at Sam, his face next to Sam's on the broad white pillow.

"Frodo," breathed Sam, reaching out his hand to touch his face. "Oh, Frodo."

"Sam. You are here," Frodo's voice was low and somewhat slurred, but his smile deepened. "I knew I'd find you again, Sam."

"Of course, Frodo-love," Sam answered, desperately trying to keep his voice from breaking. "Wherever else would I be, dearest, but with you?" His hand stole down the side of Frodo's face, caressing and loving.

"You'd never let me go, would you, my dear Sam," Frodo's eyes closed again, and his voice drifted off.

"No, never at all," Sam whispered, as Frodo fell asleep, once more. He tightened his embrace, and buried his head against Frodo's neck, unable to stop his tears. "I'd never be leavin' you, mine own love. It won't matter where you go, Frodo-love. I'll be with you always."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam's eyes flicked open with a start. Something, or someone, had touched his cheek. There, directly before his gaze, early morning light was washing over pale skin, dark lashes were shadowing still drowsy eyes, and Frodo was watching him with a slight smile on his face. With a gasped cry that was probably Frodo's name, if there had been time to finish it, Sam instantly wrapped his arms eagerly and avidly about a willing Frodo, and hungrily met his mouth. Closing his eyes, he forgot all else in the embrace of his beloved, not even aware that tears were beginning to roll down his face until he started to taste the salt. Frodo returned his kiss with a matching greedy passion at first, but then Sam could feel his one-armed embrace weakening, and he had to fall away with a gasp.

"Oh, Frodo," Sam propped himself up slightly on his elbow, choking back the tears, and impatiently swiping his face with a quick hand. "I didna think, me dearest, I should have taken more care."

Frodo continued to smile though, and shook his head slightly as he gazed up at Sam. "That was what I woke you up for, Sam-love. Don't you worry, my dear, I'll be all right." His smile faded, though, as he continued to study Sam. "You look dreadful, though, Sam," he murmured, softly, concern beginning to shade his expression. "It must have been rather awful for you."

"It was, no mistake," Sam replied frankly, in a quiet voice. But there was no point in dwelling on that, he chided himself immediately, and then thought to pick up, with the greatest of care, Frodo's left hand, as it lay upon the coverlet. Then the tears came again, and there was no choking them back this time, for Frodo's hand was warm, warm and alive, and curled tenderly around his, as he held it up and kissed it again and again.

"Oh, Sam, Sam, my dear Sam," whispered Frodo then, gently pulling Sam down to him with his other hand. Sam collapsed against him, his head on Frodo's chest and that once icy hand in both his own, and let the tears come, seeing there was no way he could have stopped them anyhow. Frodo stroked his curls, and kissed his forehead tenderly, and held him tight.

"Sam, dear," he whispered, resting his cheek softly against Sam's sun-streaked hair, "I could hear you, you know. Not what you said, I couldn't hear the words. But it was your voice, and I kept trying to find you. I don't really remember much else, and I don't think I want to, but I do remember that."

Sam lifted his tear stained face at Frodo's words, and looked directly into his eyes. "I was so scared," he got out the words with difficulty, his voice still shaky and tear-choked. "I don't ever want to be that scared again, Frodo."

Frodo smiled and slowly lifted a hand, wiping the tears from Sam's cheek, but the look in his eyes was melancholy. "I can't promise you that you won't be, love. No more than I can be sure that nothing will ever happen to you that will break my heart. Our life together has been so happy, Sam, I can't imagine anything better. Sometimes, though, it seems like a dream to me. . ." He blinked then, recollecting himself, and added, in a brisker tone, "Ah, but pay me no heed, Sam, that's just a trace of the shadows speaking." With difficulty, he tried to push himself up into a more upright position, and Sam instantly sprang into action.

"Oh, Frodo-love, you be careful now," he quickly sat up next to Frodo in the great bed, and shoved pillows behind Frodo's back to help prop him up. "Here you are, dear, easy now, me love." And with Sam's gentle help, Frodo was soon up in a sitting position, indeed, just in time, as there was a quiet knock on the door.

It was Halilhil again, and his sympathetic face, as he quietly entered, lit up at the sight of Frodo sitting up in bed with Sam at his side. Walking quickly over to the side of the bed, he nonchalantly picked up Sam's sleeping robe from the floor, where it had once again descended, and handed it to a grateful, and this time only slightly flustered, Sam. "Master Frodo," he exclaimed, politely but genuinely. "I am delighted, if somewhat surprised, to see you up. The sleeping potion was meant to last another day, but it seems as though you are indeed resilient."

"Apparently I am," Frodo nodded courteously, with a smile. "Are you the healer, then? I can't possibly thank you enough."

"Oh, no, I am not he," the young elf laughed lightly, "but you shall meet him in a few moments. Say nothing to him, but this should be amusing. I believe hobbits are quite a puzzle to him, although he would never admit to that."

Sam had tugged his own robe on as Halilhil cheerfully leaned Frodo slightly forward, and now could see that the robe that had been placed on Frodo the day before fastened in the back, and was easily whisked off without disturbing the bandaged shoulder. Frodo looked rather startled at being suddenly bared in such an efficient manner, and Sam was privately glad that, at least this time, Frodo was still covered from the chest down with the bedclothes. He rather doubted that Frodo would have been pleased to learn quite how much of him the initial visitors to his room had been able to view.

Halilhil had been correct in his surmise, for when the healer and his assistants entered the room a moment later, there was a sudden startled look on the healer's impassive face, no matter how quickly he was able to conceal it. "Very good, very good indeed," he acknowledged, giving Frodo a sharp glance, as well as Sam.

Frodo nodded once again in response. "I cannot thank you enough, Master Healer," he murmured in the same tongue in which the healer had spoken. "I am much in your debt."

The healer could not help the wry smile that stole across his face at Frodo's courteous words. "So I see that Master Bilbo is not the only scholar among hobbits," he nodded politely in response. "You are a remarkable young hobbit in many ways, then." Quickly turning serious again, he grasped the handle of the sharp blade that his assistant had been offering him, and carefully inserted it under the bandage on Frodo's shoulder, cutting it open with a deft movement of his wrist, and then cautiously prying it off of the wound. "Ah," he mentioned, with satisfaction.

Sam dared, then, to look. The wound was still long, snaking across Frodo's upper shoulder and slightly down the side of his chest. It was no longer bleeding, but was crusted with dried blood, and the sides themselves were still whitened and raised. But the surrounding skin was not reddened, and inflamed, as it once had been, and there were no more signs of those dark red streaks that had terrified Sam so only a day past.

The healer made another murmur of approval, and motioned to the assistants. They immediately sprang into motion, carefully washing the wound and coating it with a pungent salve. In no time at all, it was bandaged up anew, and the healer was speaking carefully to Frodo. Sam patiently waited, and in a matter of moments, the hobbits were once again left with only Halilhil in the room with them.

"The healer says he is to eat," the elf mentioned politely to Sam, who had been unable to follow the conversation. "I will return in a few moments with food and drink," and laying a clean robe at the foot of the bed, was gone.

"Help me up, quickly, Sam, before he returns," Frodo immediately muttered, trying to move to the edge of the bed with a determined look. He gave the robe a look of distaste as Sam hurried to his side. "I'd rather have something on that stays put somewhat better than that. Do you know where they've put my things, Sam?" And then a stricken look came to his face. "The Ring, Sam! Where is It? Do they have It?"

Sam, one arm under Frodo's uninjured shoulder, and carefully helping him to his feet, stared blankly at him for a moment. Nothing could have been more remote from his thoughts the last few days, and he realized that he didn't actually know the answer to Frodo's question. Recovering quickly though, he handed Frodo the robe that had been left. "Let's get you set up first, Frodo," he retorted, somewhat gruffly. "I'd not be thinkin' there'd be much left of what you were wearin' when you got here, but your pack is in the room they gave us, and I can go fetch your spare things in a moment. There'll be folks comin' in any time now, soon as they get the word, so you best be wearin' this 'til then. I'll check on that blasted piece of mischief likewise."

Frodo reluctantly then donned the robe, and Halilhil chose that moment to return with a tray of food, his face immediately showing dismay on seeing that Frodo was out of bed. "Master Frodo," he gasped, "you are not to be out of bed yet! Your wound has still not healed; it will re-open!"

"It will heal faster if I'm not just sitting in that bed thinking about it," Frodo replied, somewhat crossly. "What's wrong with me at the moment is the lack of quite a few meals, I suspect."

"I'll be gettin' your things, then, Frodo," Sam murmured, taking the opportunity to cross to the other side of the room, as a disgruntled Frodo sat back down on the side of the bed before the nonplussed elf. He gave a quick glance to where he had dropped It on the table the first night, and with mixed emotions, caught the glint of gold on the floor. Apparently, It had slipped to the floor, and no one had touched It.

There was no more time to consider that, however, as there was another soft knock on the door, and Bilbo cautiously peered inside.

"Bilbo!" Frodo's face lit up with joy, and he started to rise, but the old hobbit shook his head, and hurried to his side.

"No, lad, don't you be thinking about getting up, now. Oh, Frodo my dear, it is glad indeed I am to see you again," he added, with a suspicious catch in his voice, as he was caught up in Frodo's one-armed hug. Sam left the room gratefully. It would be awhile, he was sure, before Frodo would think of the Ring again.

 

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Both Merry and Pippin, looked up, startled, from their breakfast tray, as Sam entered their airy room. "What is it, Sam?" Merry leaped to his feet, nearly upsetting the teapot that Pippin had been in the act of setting back down. "Is he all right? They told us it would be another day until he woke up."

Sam smiled proudly then, and chuckled, "They'd not be knowin' much about hobbits, I'd warrant. He's tryin' t'get up on his feet, and fussin' about that bit o'cloth they want him to wear. Seems as I must fetch him some proper clothes. Mr. Bilbo's with him right now."

At this glorious news, both Pippin and Merry were instantly about him, laughing and hugging both each other and Sam, who was grinning delightedly at their reaction. "Oh, Sam, can we see him then?" Pippin beamed. "I must scold him for making us all so dreadfully worried. After I've kissed him several times first, of course, to take the sting out of it."

"Aye, I believe he'd enjoy that," Sam replied, amused at the thought. "But I need to find his pack first, where did you put it?" He spotted it then, in the corner of the room in a pile with the rest of their packs, but as he drew away from the other two, and started to walk towards it, he felt the room suddenly dim, and the most curious feeling start up in his knees. "Oh!" he managed to get out, but it was enough to make the other two turn towards him and they rushed over to catch him as he started to fall.

"Sam," declared Merry, somewhat sternly, after he and Pippin had supported and guided a dizzy Sam over to the settle, and had stretched him out, Pippin quickly stuffing a pillow under his head. "How long has it been since you had something to eat?"

"I don't rightly know," Sam faltered, closing his eyes to keep the room from spinning around so.

"Exactly," Merry responded firmly. "I thought as much." He quickly dragged the small table with the breakfast tray to the side of the settle, while Pippin returned with a blanket, laying it softly over Sam. "You'll not be going anywhere, my lad, until you've had something to eat, and a bit of a rest. We'll take Frodo's things to him, don't you fret. You'll be doing him no good falling over him like that."

"Try the apples; they're especially good," Pippin supplied helpfully, pushing a promising specimen toward him. "And it looks like Bilbo has taught them to make a decent pot of tea. Must ask for more honey the next time, I think."

"Don't be sayin' naught to Frodo about this, 'twill only make him anxious," Sam pleaded, as he surrendered to the inevitable.

"As long as you stay here until we get back," Merry's answer was resolute. "We don't need to be worrying over the both of you."

For once, Sam was glad to submit to Merry's logic, and before he knew it, he had drifted to sleep in the fragrant morning breeze.

 

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Sam was unable to keep his promise to Merry, though, for when he reopened his eyes, he was still alone in the splendid room, but the brightness of the light that poured in through the tall open windows told him that it was nearly midday. He sat up cautiously, but the spinning seemed to be gone, and he prudently decided that it might not be a bad idea, after all, to have a bite to eat. Pippin was right, the apple was delicious, as were the grapes, and the bread was not only quite tasty, but a lovely light texture. He gave a brief thought as to inquiring with the bakers here as to what the trick of it was, for Marigold would be happy to find it out, he was sure. The tea was cold, but that did not signify in the least to him.

However, it was more than past time for him to be back with Frodo again. Knowing those cousins of his, they could wear a body out soon enough when one was healthy, and they'd be taking no heed if they were tiring Frodo, he was sure.

Reaching Frodo's room again, he quietly knocked and re-entered it to find, as he had feared, both Merry and Pippin sprawled out on the end of the bed (where indeed there was room for at least half a dozen hobbits to make themselves comfortable), and engaged in telling their cousin some preposterous tale. Bilbo sat comfortably in an armchair at Frodo's side, and calmly smoking his pipe, was interjecting a wry comment every now and again.

Frodo, in the center of the bed, as well as the circle of hobbits, was laughing at his cousins' stories, but Sam was struck immediately, as he entered nearly unnoticed, by the dark circles in the pale skin under his eyes, and the unusual thinness of his face. But all other thoughts immediately vanished, for Frodo turned to him, catching Sam's gaze with his own, and oh, if that private, loving smile didn't twist Sam's heart so that it nearly hurt, well, nothing ever did. So before Sam knew what he was about, he was bustling through the room, calmly shooing gentlehobbits out left and right, and hardly believing it when he and Frodo were at last alone in the room again.

And if Frodo didn't hold out his arms then, with the fondest welcoming smile ever. Sam instantly found refuge there, happily sighing Frodo's name, and allowing every care and worry that he had to be forgotten for now, secure in Frodo's embrace, his ear against Frodo's chest the better to hear that steady heartbeat. Resolutely, he blocked all other thoughts from his mind, for was it not his Frodo, his adored Frodo, safe within his arms? What more was there to be desired? That was when he heard Frodo's voice softly ask him, "The Ring, Sam. Did you ever find out what became of It?"

He could not help the black hatred that instantly flooded his heart at the thought of It, but he managed to keep his tone light and his voice steady when he raised his head up, and casually muttered, "It's over there on the floor, me dear. They'd put It on a chain and strung It about your neck, but I took It right off. Can't see as that blasted thing'd be helpin' you, no ways. But It's safe enough there. Not a soul's touched It. The next time I'll be seein' Gandalf, I'll be askin' him when someone will fetch It."

Frodo's eyes, though, were suddenly troubled, and he gave Sam a slight frown. "But Sam, I really am responsible for It until someone can take It off of our hands. Since I can't be keeping It in my pockets, perhaps the chain isn't a bad idea. After all, it should be safe enough if the elves thought of it."

The fear that griped Sam was not a matter that he could explain, but it was fierce, and he could not keep it from showing in his eyes, as he caught Frodo's hand up in his own, and pleaded, "Oh, leave It there where It lies, Frodo-love, please, dear! Don't let It touch you again; It will try to harm you, I can't say as how, but I know it to be so. Please, me dearest, please trust your Sam on this!"

Frodo looked at him steadily, at first somewhat surprised by the vehemence in Sam's voice. Then he smiled slightly, carefully removing his hand from Sam's and cupping the side of his face. "You really are taking this a little too hard, I think, Sam," he replied lightly, "for I'm sure we are quite safe here, but if it truly matters that much to you, I'll leave It be for now."

Sam had no words, but kissed his hand gratefully, and Frodo chuckled slightly. "You do keep an eye out for me, don't you, Sam love," he murmured, embracing him again warmly.

"Aye, and that's what I'd best be doin' now," Sam straightened himself again, with a mostly successful attempt at returning to a more normal matter-of-fact tone. "For between the lot of us, we can't be doin' naught but tirin' you out again. And look here," he added, turning to the tray of food that was still next to the bed, "if you ain't had but a bite to eat. Try this bread now, for 'tis tasty indeed, and the grapes are that fine, likewise."

"All right, Sam," Frodo laughed, pushing himself up slightly, "but only if you eat too. You are still looking decidedly ragged, you know, and we really can't have that."

It was only a few bites that Frodo took, however, before he yawned, and blinked, and was suddenly quite soundly asleep. Sam sighed, and took the tray out to the hall, and returned to straighten out the pillows and make Frodo more comfortable. He settled himself down on the bed, sitting next to Frodo with Frodo's hand clasped gently in his, and stared thoughtfully out of the tall windows, as the light afternoon breeze rustled the pale draperies about.

 

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Bilbo had a smile on his face as he left Frodo's room, quite efficiently and firmly escorted out by Sam. Turning to the two younger hobbits who were accompanying him, he chuckled, "Turned out rather like his gaffer, didn't he? Now there was a hobbit you could never budge when he thought he had the right of it."

"And Sam usually is right," Pippin smiled in reply, "which of course is most annoying of him. Oh, do you know," he stopped in the corridor suddenly, "that he has not mentioned Bill once?"

Merry nodded thoughtfully. "Quite unlike him. He's surprisingly fond of that pony."

"Well, that's the Samwise I remember," Bilbo shook his head with a grin. "Had private conversations with every animal in the garden, he did. The gaffer used to shake his head about that lad, but I always thought it showed the sign of a proper imagination. But if you'd like to investigate this Bill's well being, the stables are not far, just down the main road to the river and to the left. A little far for me though, but you lads go on. Some fresh air wouldn't hurt the pair of you."

This did sound like a splendid idea to both of them, and it didn't take that long for them to find their way out of the maze of Rivendell, and begin walking down the dusty road under the fragrant pines.

"So what do you suppose will happen now that Frodo's on the mend again?" Pippin asked Merry abruptly, his eyes intent on the pine needles he was scuffing underfoot.

"Well, he'll hand that nasty piece of business off to someone like Gandalf, or that elf we saw the first day, I should think, and then we'll be back to the Shire," Merry answered thoughtfully. "Bilbo seems quite happy here, I'd expect he would stay. Might be a little awkward having him around Bag End again, I'd imagine."

Pippin couldn't help but laugh at that thought. "It would definitely be discomfiting, there's no denying that, although he's amazingly accepting about all of this."

They continued to walk in silence for a little while longer, until Pippin gave Merry a sideways glance, and said softly, "I don't suppose our families are going to be accepting in the least when we get back."

Merry sighed, and shook his head. "There'll be no end of it," he predicted gloomily. "My mother has always thought Frodo the worst of influences, but by the time we get back, she'll probably have convinced all the rest of them as well."

Pippin moved in closer and grasped Merry's hand. "I'm afraid of what they can do," he murmured somberly.

Merry firmly clasped Pippin's hand in return, and stopping in the middle of the road, never giving the occasional elf passer-by a glance, but looked steadily into Pippin's eyes. "I'm not giving you up, Pip. They can threaten what they like; it really won't matter. I'd rather wander the wild roads with you for the rest of my life, than to live in the Shire without you."

Pippin was in his arms then in a heartbeat, wrapping his own arms tightly around Merry and hiding his face against Merry's neck. "Then it's all right," his words were muffled and more than a little uneven. "As long as you don't give me up, Merry, love."

"Ah, you dearest goose," breathed Merry, kissing Pippin's cheek, and fighting to keep his voice steady as well. "As if I ever could."

 

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Sam watched the light on the bed from the windows turn from golden to rose, and then start to fade away altogether, and still Frodo slept. This grand place was certainly a puzzle, he thought dreamily. It was so very airy, with the windows open to the air and scarcely a door to be found, save on, thankfully enough, this room. Courtyards, open to the sky above, were interspersed everywhere, and even the corridors were generally open on one side, merely covered walkways. It was as if the whole place was, in Sam's mind, somewhat like a grand luxurious tent, more than half open to the elements. Yet the rooms were comfortable, and fires blazed throughout as needed, with every other imaginable comfort. It seemed the height of impossibility, somehow, that a chill gale would find its way to this valley, to bedevil the inhabitants of these glorious halls. Yet Sam could see Bilbo's point entirely. As magnificent as it all was, there needed to be the snug feeling of a properly dug tunnel, to truly feel at home.

Idly, his mind wandered back to their own smial, at Bag End. The harvest would be over by now, surely. He hoped it hadn't had been that much of a bother for the gaffer and the Cottons, to be taking care of it as well as their own. With any luck at all though, they'd be home before the snows began to fall in earnest, and there'd be time to plan and prepare the garden for the following spring. Mayhap some of the seedlings of Bag End's apple trees would be a proper gift to the Cottons, and perhaps he might even be able to obtain a few apple seeds from the elves, for certainly the apples he had tasted here were something rare indeed.

It was as his mind was far from here, back in the Shire, that he suddenly noticed that Frodo, although still asleep, seemed to growing restless. With concern, he laid his hand, the one that did not hold Frodo's own, on Frodo's brow, and found, to his dismay, that it was too warm. It wasn't a high fever, certainly, but a bit of fever nonetheless, and Sam felt uneasiness grip his heart once again.

Fortunately, it was not long after that, with his customary gentle rap, that Halilhil entered the room, and with a friendly bow to Sam, began lighting the lamps that were near the bed. "The healer will be here soon, for one last check, and then dinner will be brought in for him. Will you be returning to your comrades again this evening, then?" he asked in a low voice, so as not to disturb the sleeper.

"No, that I won't," Sam answered shortly. "As a matter of fact, I'll be bringing both of our things in here tomorrow. If he's t'be stayin' here, I'd be with him, not with the others."

"Certainly, Master Samwise, as you wish," the elf replied smoothly. "I'll have your dinner brought in as well."

"I'd be that grateful to you," Sam murmured thankfully, but then, without further ceremony, the master healer swept into the room, and stopped short, managing to direct a disapproving look toward Frodo without the benefit of a frown. Turning to Halilhil, he said something briefly, and then turned to Sam with a sharp glance.

"The healer wishes to know why Master Frodo has so many articles of clothing on." Halilhil's eyes were decorously directed to the ground, but Sam could see the dry smile creep across his face, as he continued, "The healer has noticed, as well, that his patient appears to have gotten out of bed today, in express conflict with his wishes."

Frodo was beginning to stir though, and lazily blink his eyes open, so with a quick warning squeeze of Frodo's hand in his, Sam politely informed the healer that he might best be asking the patient himself. The healer bent over Frodo, then, giving Sam clearly a dubious glance before he did so, and examined him, as Frodo came awake with a start, tearing his hand from Sam's in his confusion, and awkwardly rising to a sitting position. Sam, as he found himself watching the conversation between Frodo and the healer, realized that there was a certain amount of exasperation on both sides, until the healer turned to Halilhil, and in a calmly commanding way, obviously gave him an order. Halilhil bowed, and abruptly left, causing Frodo to square his jaw, and give the healer a determined look. Desperately wishing that he'd given his study of the elvish language a little more emphasis on the spoken word rather than the poems he so loved, Sam tried his best to follow the exchange, but had to admit to himself that he was at a loss.

The healer gave his patient a last uncompromising look, and abruptly left, and Sam gave a sigh of relief. "And what was that last bit all about, m'dear?" he asked calmly, as he sat up a little straighter next to Frodo.

"I don't think he thinks I'm an ideal patient," Frodo answered, with a wry smile toward Sam, taking his hand back up again reassuringly. "As a matter of fact, if I were not apparently expected to make an appearance at some sort of meeting tomorrow, he would find a way to ensure that I slept for the next week, I'm positive."

"A meeting?" Sam frowned. "But you're hardly up, who'd be askin' that o'you?"

Conveniently enough, Halilhil had just returned with the dinner tray, and the question was immediately put to him by Frodo, as Sam assisted him in removing the disapproved clothing, concerned at the way Frodo could not help but wince as he moved the bandaged shoulder.

"Why, it is a most high council lead by my Lord Elrond," the elf answered instantly, "since there have been folk arriving here from all corners of Middle Earth. An emissary from Gondor appeared just this morning, and I have even," and here he gave a quick glance toward them with fastidious distaste, "heard tell that there are dwarves to arrive today."

"Dwarves?" Frodo gave a quick smile of delight. "Oh, Bilbo will be ever so pleased to hear that."

Halilhil rather glumly held out the robe for Frodo as Sam neatly folded his clothes, carefully placing them on the nearby table for tomorrow. "He may be," he replied, with a slight emphasis that subtly indicated his disagreement with this sentiment, "but to have men, hobbits, and even dwarves here is most unheard of, I assure you." Neither hobbit, of course, needed as to wonder the reason for this unusual gathering, and Sam cast a surreptitious glance toward on the object still on the floor. He should probably ask tomorrow for the box Frodo had been carrying It in, he supposed. All these grand folk should be figuring out soon enough who'd be taking It off of their hands.

Halilhil seemed not inclined, however, to further discuss the next day's events, but left them with their dinner, and a warning that the master healer would be returning one last time to change the bandages, as soon as they ate. Sam immediately returned to Frodo's side, as the elf left, with a purposeful air, and Frodo couldn't help but smile at the determination on Sam's face as he meaningfully felt Frodo's forehead.

"Still too warm, am I not, Sam," he had to admit.

"Doin' too much," Sam grunted, with a frown.

"Very well, then," Frodo conceded, allowing Sam to help him back into bed. "You know I've never been the best of patients, dear."

"Aye, you know well enough there'd be no need t'be telling' me that," Sam held out the bowl of soup that had been provided for Frodo, giving a mock sigh of disapproval.

Frodo chuckled, and taking the bowl, began to eat with relish. He did stop for a moment and give Sam an accusatory glance. "You're to be eating as well, Samwise," he mentioned sternly, nodding toward the rest of the food. "I believe they brought in dinner for two. I'm not the only one who's a poor patient, you know."

Sam had to agree with that point, and with a smile and shake of his head, began buttering some bread for both himself and Frodo. Dinner continued, mostly in a companionable silence, as they both realized that they really were quite ravenous. Indeed, they had just divided the last bunch of grapes as the healer and his assistants firmly knocked on the door and entered the room.

"Ah," he viewed the empty tray with satisfaction. Once again, with a deft move, Frodo's robe was whisked from him and the bandage deftly cut off. He examined the wound silently, and then began to speak to Frodo. Sam sat patiently at the end of the bed, and tried to read the elf's expression, but that was a fruitless cause. The wound was washed and salved again, and efficiently bandaged, and Sam was pleased to note that although it still appeared as ghastly as ever, it seemed to finally have stopped bleeding. The assistants to the healer rapidly packed their supplies up and melted from the room, but not before one of the them, as he removed the dinner tray, handed the master a glass half-filled with a clear liquid.

The master healer offered it to Frodo, who took it warily. Once again, there was a rapid conversation, and Sam could see that Frodo was reluctant to drink the mixture. The healer, however, at last prevailed, and took the empty glass back from Frodo with a look, to Sam's mind, of triumph. He thereupon followed his colleagues from the room, and they were alone.

"Another sleeping draught," Frodo sighed with obvious disappointment, waving away the robe that Sam silently offered. "That's really not what I need. It isn't sleep that will mend me, it's you, Sam."

"Oh, Frodo," Sam touched his face tenderly, moved by the sudden direct appeal in Frodo's eyes. "Then 'tis me you'll be having in no time, me dear." Indeed, it was the work of but a moment to extinguish the lamps and disrobe, and then he was in bed and there was Frodo in his arms.

Once again Sam was swept with passion for this dear love of his, holding him closely to himself, skin to skin, and meeting his mouth with a fervent kiss. Try as Frodo would to fight it though, the potion was fast acting, and he had to admit yawning defeat after only a few moments. "There now, Frodo-love, we have all the time in the world now, me dear," Sam murmured soothingly as Frodo drifted off to sleep. "You just be taking care of yourself, and I'll be here, no worries, whenever you like." Gently he stoked Frodo's head as Frodo sleepily arranged himself against Sam, taking care to touch the bandaged shoulder as little as possible. "Sleep now me darling, for you are with me again, and 'tis all that matters to me."

 

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He lay in the grass, and gazed up at the cherry tree, rising tall and beautiful in the bright blue Shire sky. It was covered with soft pink bloom, and the light breeze that was blowing high above him would occasionally rustle a branch, and shake loose the delicate petals. Down they swirled, lightly landing on his upturned face, delicately touching and caressing, as he threw back his head, and laughed happily, and opened his eyes to see Frodo, pale in the bright moonlight, propped up on his good elbow and smiling down at him.

"Frodo," he breathed, at the end of a quiet laugh, and Frodo's smile deepened. Leaning forward, he lightly kissed Sam's cheek, his forehead, his eyelids, as Sam closed his eyes in pure joy. Reaching up, cupping his face tenderly, gently he guided Frodo toward his mouth and met him there in a lingering kiss. "You're awake," he murmured as they broke apart, returning his hand to the side of Frodo's face.

Frodo's smile became decidedly impish at Sam's observation. "I don't think they've quite worked out the dosage for hobbits yet," he observed lightly. "I believe, as I mentioned before I became suddenly quite unconscious, that I don't think it's sleep I need."

"And what do you need, Frodo-love?" he lovingly tucked a dark curl behind the delicate ear point, his voice becoming husky.

"I need what I haven't had nearly enough of, what with one thing and another, ever since we left Bag End," Frodo answered lightly, accented with another quick kiss to his nose. "I need to be in a bed, in a room with you, quite alone. I need to not worry about anyone else disturbing us," he added, running a gentle finger down the side of Sam's face. "And I need to look at you in the moonlight, and think once again how very beautiful you are, and how the way you say my name makes me fall quite hopelessly apart, and always has, ever since that first night we kissed each other, and I knew that I would always love you."

"Ah, Frodo," whispered Sam, grasping his hand tightly and kissing it fervently. "You make me so happy, I can't be beginnin' t'tell you, me love." He reached up with both arms, and with a joyous gasp, Frodo fell into them, held tight as Sam ardently kissed his throat.

"Oh, dear Sam," he moaned, holding tightly and arching his head back, "oh, please, dear one." Then, with a sudden movement, Sam had turned them around, and he bent over Frodo, flinging aside the bedclothes, and lovingly running a slow but eager hand down Frodo's side, and then up the middle, bending over Frodo, and nibbling those dark nipples, tasting them and teasing them with his tongue.

"Ah!" Frodo cried out with passion, his eyes closing and his torso stretching out and up at the combined sensation of Sam's mouth and hand. Whatever trials his body had known mattered now not in the least as he writhed under Sam's touch, any lingering pains banished from all thought. "Oh, Sam, oh!" he groaned, his hand reaching down to twine itself in Sam's curls, as Sam's mouth moved lower to join his hand, uniting to cover and grasp Frodo all at once. The warm feel of it was ecstasy itself, the pull and swirl of the tongue, the delicious slick wet sensation, the slide and skillful nip of the teeth, but Frodo moved under Sam's caresses for only a few moments before he suddenly gasped, and reached down to Sam's shoulder, tugging and urging him up.

"Sam," he gasped as Sam lifted his head in surprise, catching sight of those darkened eyes in the moonlight. "I need to feel all of you, Sam. Please, dearest, cover me, love, hold me tight."

Sam understood. He raised himself higher, and brought himself down upon Frodo's thinner frame, feeling the jut of the hipbones, the one arm that still hung awkwardly to the side, but also Frodo's desperate one-armed embrace, and his heat and need. So his one hand grasped them both together, as Frodo cried aloud again, nearly frantic with desire and want and the need to feel alive once more, and flung himself up against Sam with all his strength. Down Sam ground against him, moaning his name, over and over, as Frodo clung tightly to him and pushed himself recklessly upward, until at last he felt Frodo stiffen, cry out one last time, and spill hotly into his hand. He followed without thought, and lay panting momentarily over Frodo, until jolted alert at the abrupt memory of Frodo's condition, immediately rolling to one side.

"I'd best be cleaning us off, dear, what with all this crowd that's always a'comin' in here," he muttered reluctantly, starting to rise from the bed, but Frodo wouldn't hear of it.

"Nothing of the sort, Sam, don't you dream of going anywhere," he breathed, gazing into Sam's eyes with a heavy-lidded, but satisfied smile. "Let them wonder about us once more, I could really care less. Don't you leave this bed, my very dearest Samwise. Just you keep holding me like this, and nothing else could ever matter."

Sam sighed happily and gave up all responsible thoughts. "As you wish, me darling," he whispered, stoking the side of Frodo's face once again, as he felt Frodo settle down against him. "Just you stay with me, love." Frodo's breathing gradually slowed, and once again he was asleep in Sam's embrace.


	3. Chapter 3

Frodo never heard the knock, but opened his eyes the next morning with the uncanny sense that he was being watched. Indeed, he was. The master healer was giving him a distinctly disapproving look, as Halilhil appeared apologetically at his side. Sam was still asleep in his arms as the elf began to speak. "I presume, Master Frodo, you feel refraining from strenuous activity is unnecessary in your recovery," he announced shortly. "Therefore, I have no misgivings in answering to my lord Elrond that, without any doubt, you are fit for any meeting at which he might request your presence, such as the one that is called for this very morning. Your need for my services being at an end, Halilhil may see to the bandaging from this point on. Congratulations upon your fortitude and good fortune." And without giving Frodo an opportunity to respond, he swept, with great dignity, from the room.

"I sense that I have offended him somehow," Frodo gave Halilhil a wry glance, as Sam began to stir sleepily.

"I believe you have, Master Frodo, in daring to heal yourself with relatively little assistance," Halilhil stated dryly, with a smile. "I am sorry that I could give yourself and Master Samwise no warning, but he was, as usual, most insistent. Shall I bring a breakfast tray to you?"

"No need, thank you," Frodo reassured him. "We will find my cousins when we are prepared to breakfast; I feel quite ready to be on my feet today." Halilhil nodded agreement to Frodo's proposal, and left the room.

Frodo then turned his attention to Sam, who had not quite awakened at the sound of the voices. With a sleepy murmur, of what, Frodo could not hear, he nestled his face in the crook of Frodo's good arm, and was nearly instantly breathing steadily again in slumber. Frodo gazed down at the tawny curls with a warm smile. It was so unlike Sam not to awaken at the sounds of conversation about him that he had to assume that Sam had been well and truly exhausted over the last several days.

It had to have been several days, he thought suddenly, glancing out of the open windows without quite seeing them. He had certainly lost track of the time, but for Sam to be looking the way that he did, it must have been a while. And he hadn't really been paying that much attention to himself, but he was decidedly scrawny, he realized with some dismay. Just as well he'd managed to thwart the plans of the healer, or he'd have starved entirely away before the elf would have agreed to let him stay awake long enough to eat anything. And with a sudden rumble, as if just reminded of that fact, his stomach let him know that at least one of those missing meals was far past due.

That woke Sam, when the conversations around his head had not. With a drowsy chuckle, he lowered his head and planted an emphatic kiss on Frodo's stomach. Frodo gave a surprised laugh as Sam raised his head and grinned up at him. "You need t'be doing something about this right fast, me dear," he murmured. "These hipbones o'yours would put a body's eye out, they're that sharp."

"Can't help that, Sam-love," Frodo replied casually, ever so slightly raising himself higher up in the bed.

Sam, however, saw through this subterfuge instantly. "Ah, no, dearie," he chuckled, but not before taking Frodo in his mouth momentarily as a quick compensation, Frodo giving a sharp gasp of delight. "None o'that, until you've been having at least first and second breakfast." And as if in agreement, Frodo's stomach gave another groan, and its owner had to admit laughing defeat.

There was another matter to be considered, however, as they rose from bed, and dressed themselves, and that was what still lay untouched upon the floor, at the side of the bed. "I really suppose I should wear the Ring for now," Frodo remarked, with definite reluctance, eyeing the gold object as It lay innocuously under the table beside the bed. "After all, it really wouldn't do to cart It all the way here and then misplace It."

Sam turned away from Frodo for a moment, catching his breath, and fighting to keep his composure. He knew that that was entirely reasonable, and had no explanation whatsoever as to why the thought of Frodo placing the chain about his neck filled him with a dull terror.

Frodo, however, did not notice Sam's reaction, as his back was towards Sam. He knelt down, and picking the Ring up by the chain, gingerly let It drop down around his neck and tucked It under his shirt. Returning to Sam's side, he lay a gentle hand at the side of Sam's troubled face, and gazed into his concerned eyes. "It won't be for long, Sam, love," he murmured softly. "Just until I can give the thing over to someone at this meeting later this morning." Leaning forward, he met Sam's mouth in a long and tender kiss. "We'll be well rid of It soon, dearest," he added, smiling reassuringly at Sam, after they at last broke apart. "Now then, let's find the others, and a bit of breakfast."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Frodo looked about with great interest, as he and Sam left their room and started toward Merry and Pippin's quarters. "This is quite unusual," he noted, taking in with curiosity the airy open walkways and gracefully carved pillars, "but it does somehow seem right, the sort of place where I'd imagine elves would live."

"Aye," Sam had to agree, walking at Frodo's side with his hand firmly clasped about Frodo's. " 'Tis all that beautiful to be sure, but the grandness'd naught be feeling much like home to me, if you'd know what I mean."

"Perhaps, but ah, now, Sam, you have to admit that this is lovely," Frodo exclaimed with delight as they entered the courtyard outside of the room that had been given to the hobbits. He stopped still in the middle of the yard, letting the spray from the small fountain blow lightly against his face, and closing his eyes in enjoyment. "And what is it that is growing here that smells so delicious?"

"I'd not know at all," Sam had to admit, watching Frodo with a fond smile, "but it is right nice, no mistake. Mayhap they'd be letting' me take a sprig or two o'whatever it is back with us, for it would smell right nice about the front door, I'm thinkin'."

"Excellent idea," Frodo approved immediately, opening his eyes again, with a grin. "Indeed, it smells so good that I am really quite famished for breakfast now. Do you think those two scamps thought to save anything for us?"

There was no sign of a hobbit inside the room, however, although there was certainly evidence of their recent presence, such as a very rumpled bed, and some stray articles of clothing strewn here and there. "Do you suppose they are already through?" Frodo asked in some disappointment, glancing about, but Sam had noticed the lack of any breakfast items, and had reached a conclusion.

"Mr. Bilbo," he stated, turning to Frodo with a grin. "They'd be havin' breakfast with Mr. Bilbo, no mistake." He took Frodo off, hand in hand once again, and in no time was rapping on Bilbo's round green door, as Frodo looked on with a pleased wonder at the sight.

"A hobbit hole, in Rivendell. Who would ever have imagined that?" he was musing in delight, when Bilbo suddenly opened the door.

"Frodo, my lad!" he exclaimed at once, his weathered face lighting up with a happy smile. "My dearest hobbit, you're doing the Baggins blood proud, to be sure! How fit you are looking, although a trifle thinnish, certainly." Quickly whisking Frodo inside with a hearty hug, he called out to the others inside, "Come see what a pretty package I have found upon the doorstep!"

The sound of feet running down the hall was immediately heard, and Frodo was quickly engulfed by cousins. "Have a care, lads," he laughed happily at the assault. "You need to feed a famished hobbit before you can be expecting to knock the fellow about so."

"And your poor shoulder, too!" Merry was instantly all concern. "Really, Frodo, you need to thump us on the head, and remind us to have a care. All this waiting around's been a bit trying, that's all."

Frodo laughed again, and playfully kissed Merry on the cheek. "Silly hobbit. I'm sturdier than I look, you know that. I'll be right as rain in no time at all."

Meanwhile, Pippin had noticed Sam standing quietly in the doorway. "Come on in, Sam, don't be a noddy. Come and get your hugs, too." He dragged him inside with a cheeky grin, and in no time at all, both Sam and Frodo were being tugged down the hall into Bilbo's cozy kitchen, in which breakfast was well underway.

It was in the midst of a rather heated exchange regarding the merits of cream scones as opposed to oatmeal scones, that a loud knock was once again heard upon the door. "Dear me," Bilbo exclaimed, rising from his comfortable corner seat, "whoever can that be? The elves never knock, you know, the point of closed doors seems quite beyond them." He left the room as the others paused the debate in a curious silence. "Wonders upon wonders!" they therefore heard Bilbo's happy cry. "My dear old friend, how long has it been?" Pippin was up in a moment, at that intriguing observation, and the others tossed polite manners immediately aside, and followed after him.

The visitors, for there were two of them, seemed to fill Bilbo's front room; not so much that they were taller, although they certainly were, but there seemed somehow to be so very much of them, not to mention a rather considerable amount of flowing hair. Even Merry and Pippin, who had never seen one before, realized immediately that they were dwarves. The white-haired older one had nearly engulfed a joyful Bilbo in his embrace, but the ginger-haired younger dwarf stood somewhat awkwardly behind him, and seemed to be gazing on the hobbits with every bit as much inquisitiveness as with which they gazed back at him.

"My very old friend, Gloin," Bilbo announced to the other hobbits, beaming toward them. "My esteemed companion on my adventures when both he and I were so much younger. You've met Frodo, I know, but he was just a tween the last time you saw him, I think. Grew up nicely, didn't he? And here is Samwise, the gardener's lad; I believe you might remember him as well? He would have been but a wee thing back then, I suppose, but he's quite grown now, likewise. These two rascals," he added, pointing towards to the other two wide-eyed hobbits, "are my cousins, in a general sort of way, and are the terror of the Shire, but you may call them Merry and Pippin."

The dwarf bowed most politely as the introductions flew by him, murmuring acknowledgement in a deep voice. He then indicated the other dwarf, standing silently next to him, and rumbled, in somewhat harshly flavored common speech, "Most pleased to meet all of you good hobbits, may the hair on your toes never fall out. I have with me my son, Gimli. We have come to see Lord Elrond on urgent business, but no business is so urgent that I can not manage to visit my dear friend first."

Bilbo shook his head with a rueful smile. "The halls of Rivendell seem filled with urgent matters these days, and yet there should always be time for a meal and a smoke with friends. This hole was meant for but one, I'm afraid, but the sun is warm and the air is fresh in the yard in front of my door. Quickly, lads, all grab food and chairs and let us enjoy ourselves while we may."

So in no time at all, the food was carried to the grassy yard before the door of the hobbit hole, and spread out picnic-style. Chairs and cushions and blankets were rapidly spread out as well, with both Sam and Merry keeping a stern eye on Frodo to ensure that he brought out only the lightest of items, and all settled down quite comfortably, several drawing out their pipes as a post-breakfast treat. No one brought up the reasons for this unusual reunion, since such grave matters were best spoken of in places other than the lovely green courtyard, with its fragrant flowers, and the light sparkling mist that arose from the Falls far below. Instead, conversation was insubstantial and trifling, in a way that pleased the hobbits and enchanted the dwarves, and at last Frodo fell asleep leaning against Sam's shoulder, with a strong arm around him, the hum of bees in the goldenrod behind him, and the sun warm on his face.

It was the arrival of Strider that at last broke up the sociable gathering. Gloin had immediately hoisted himself up to his feet, dutifully followed by his son, and gave the new arrival a courteous bow. "The best wishes of my people to you, Lord Elessar," he rumbled, as Strider graciously returned the greeting.

"Well met, indeed, my Lord Gloin, and to your son as well," he murmured respectfully. "I am quite sorry to disturb you here, for there surely is no better company than that of our dear esteemed hobbits, here, but both Lord Elrond and Gandalf have requested your company this morning, before we meet with the others gathered here this afternoon. And yours, as well, Master Frodo," he added with a slight smile and nod in Frodo's direction as the hobbit watched the exchange, still a trifle sleepy.

"Ah, so it's Master Frodo now, is it, Strider?" Frodo chuckled, rising, somewhat stiffly, to his feet. "And it sounds as if you have more names than one, as well. Well, I'm sure you and Gandalf will explain it all to me in good time." He turned to Sam, who had silently been watching Frodo with a look of concern. "I expect I'll be back by lunch, Sam dear, and this unlikely trio should keep you pleasant enough company until then."

Sam could not help but watch the slight figure of Frodo, following behind the tall man and the dwarves, leave with a sense of foreboding. It was not for the likes of hobbits to be involved in such matters, he thought privately, not for the first time, and the sooner they were on the road back to the Shire, the better it would be.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

"So what is this Elessar business anyway, Bilbo?" Merry asked curiously, leaning back comfortably against the trunk of the alder and absently stuffing some more pipeweed into his pipe. "He seems awfully at home here for not being an elf, said something about growing up here, didn't he, Pip?"

"Mmph," confirmed Pippin, taking care of a stray scone.

"You don't mean to say he went all the way out to fetch you, and you still don't know who he is?" chuckled Bilbo, shaking his head as he poured another cup of tea. "Tea, Sam?" he offered kindly, noticing the rather worried expression that Sam was still wearing.

Sam declined politely, but Merry gave the older hobbit a wry glance. "We were a trifle busy, Cousin Bilbo, and family histories didn't really enter into it. There wasn't much time spent about the campfire chatting, if you know what I mean," he mentioned, rather sharply.

"Well, yes, I imagine so," Bilbo gave Merry an apologetic look, after seeing the expression on Sam's face change. "I won't bore you with all the specifics," he quickly returned to the original subject, "but Lord Elrond raised him in his household here at Rivendell, a sort of foster son, I believe. He is human, to be sure, but I have heard tell that he is the last of the race of Numenor, the great Kings from the West in the days of old. Certainly, I have no doubt that there is elf blood somewhere in his past, for he is definitely a different sort of creature than the kind of Big Person one might find at Bree, or on occasion in the Shire."

"Elessar is the name the elves have for him," he continued, warming to his subject as Pippin spread himself out on a blanket on his stomach, propping himself up with his elbows and listening to Bilbo with fascination and wide eyes. Sam himself felt nearly like a faunt again, listening to one of Mr. Bilbo's splendid tales, even if they were very far from the study of Bag End. "Elessar, the Elfstone of Elendil. Strider is, of course, the name given to him by those in Bree who know him simply as a Ranger, although I have heard Longshanks as well, and indeed, Stick-at-Naught. But truly, he is named Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

"And there is more," he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I have even heard tell, for the minstrels here see much, and they know I am quite fond of a good tale, that he and my Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond's daughter herself, have fallen in love."

"An elf and a human?" Merry asked in amazement. "Can that be?"

 

__

Long was the way that fate them bore,

 

O'er stony mountains cold and grey,

 

Through halls of iron and darkling door,

 

And woods of nightshade morrowless.

 

The Sundering Seas between them lay,

 

And yet at last they met once more,

 

And long ago they passed away

 

In the forest singing sorrow less.

 

"Indeed," came Bilbo's quiet voice as the other two turned to look at Sam in surprise. "The lay of the mortal man Beren, and Luthien, daughter of the King of Elves. You have remembered that tale well, Sam."

Sam turned inexplicably red at that remark however, and looked quite grateful when Merry suddenly sat up and exclaimed, "Sam! You haven't had a chance to check on Bill, now, have you?"

"Aye, to be sure, and thankee kindly for reminding me," Sam exclaimed, with an attempt at composure, springing to his feet. Merry smiled privately as he arose as well. He had not forgotten Frodo's gift to Sam, on the occasion of his fiftieth birthday, when he still thought he'd be leaving the Shire alone.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

For Sam, the rest of the morning passed in waiting. He was grateful for the opportunity to walk out under the pines, and quite thankful to Merry and Pippin for keeping an eye on Bill when he had been unable to. Bill had given a pronounced snicker and shake of his mane on catching sight of Sam, and had quickly trotted over to him. Sam had greeted the little pony with a fierce hug and an apple, remembering the so recent days when his silent sympathetic companionship had given him such comfort. Merry and Pippin had considerately found the view down into the Valley of the Falls quite interesting, at that point, and left Sam to apologize to Bill for his neglect, and promise him to take him out for a bit of a walk as soon as Frodo was able to accompany them.

They had returned to Bilbo's chambers for lunch, for as Bilbo had mentioned, the elves were good enough, as far as breakfast went, and they did quite a fine dinner, to be sure, but were not much concerned with meals in between. That did bother Sam, thinking of Frodo cooped up in council with all those important folk, with nothing to eat, and him being just out of a sick bed. Fortunately, when he mentioned these misgivings to Bilbo, the older hobbit quickly agreed, and offered to take Sam to find Halilhil, who possibly could be persuaded to reclaim Frodo for some much needed food and rest.

And it certainly was well he did, Sam thought with dismay, as Halilhil returned with Frodo to an anxiously waiting Sam and Bilbo, and escorted them all back to the room which Sam and Frodo had been occupying. The white room, in which Frodo had laid insensate for so many days, was pleasant and airy, the tall drapery whispering soothingly in the slight breeze, and there were tempting foods laid out on a tray next to the bed. Halilhil helped Sam assist an obviously weary Frodo back into bed, and murmured, "I will inform the others that you will be resting this afternoon."

"Thank you, Halilhil, that would be most kind of you," Frodo sighed, leaning back against the pillows, his face alarmingly pale. "I rather seem to have lost a bit of stamina, I'm afraid, and that really does sound like an excellent plan."

Bilbo gave a quick nod too, and declared, "Don't you worry, my lad, whatever they have to discuss, they will still be discussing tomorrow. Elves are never hasty, you know. I understand there is a group of elves, from Mirkwood, expected in the next day or so, and certainly nothing will be decided without their consent. So you'd best rest up for tonight, my lad, and I'll leave Sam here to make sure you do just that. Don't forget, though. Feasting and singing such as you've never heard tonight, my dears. But I've seem to have left those two cousins of yours unattended, and that will never do. No telling what mischief those two could find," he added with a chuckle, and left the room.

Halilhil politely cleared his throat at this point, and mentioned, "I do hate to disturb you, Master Frodo, but I need to change the dressing on your shoulder before you rest."

Frodo gave an involuntary weary sigh, and started to struggle back up to a sitting position again, but Sam stopped him with a gentle hand. "I could be doin' that, if you'd not be mindin' it," he offered politely to the elf. "I've a fair hand with a bandage, if you could be leavin' that salve, as well."

"Very good," the elf gave a quick smile. "I must commend you both for being so very self-sufficient. And is there anything else I might be permitted to do?"

"Aye," Sam replied instantly, with a small smile. "Since you'd be that kind t'be offerin', later, afore dinner, a great tub of hot steamy water would be that fine."

"Ah, tub-bathing. Master Bilbo is quite fond of that as well," Halilhil nodded, with a light laugh, as he began to leave. "Indeed, you shall have just that."

Sam's smile had disappeared, though, when he turned his attention back to Frodo, who had lain back in bed, his eyes closed. "Come, my dear, let's get this taken care of first, love," he said softly, urging Frodo to sit back up again, and carefully beginning to remove his jacket.

"Of course, you are right, Sam," Frodo's eyes blinked groggily open again, and he reached for the buttons of his shirt.

"No dearie, you best be lettin' your Sam be doin' that," Sam chided him tenderly, leaning forward and kissing Frodo lightly on the forehead to prove his point. Frodo smiled, but acquiesced, allowing Sam to deftly unbutton the shirt, and cautiously pull it off. With a few snips, the bandages were also cut through, and gingerly pried off, and then Sam tried to suppress his dismay at the sight of Frodo's shoulder, and the gold chain, with its burden, resting on Frodo's chest.

"Yes, it would seem I still have the Ring, at least for now," Frodo remarked, rather despondently, glancing downward. "And Gandalf had quite a good excuse, apparently, for not meeting us in the Shire. I'm beginning to see that this whole matter is going to not be easy at all." He glanced back up at Sam, and Sam could see a shadow pass across his tired face. "But there's plenty of time to discuss those matters later, my dear, for right now, nothing sounds more tempting than a nap."

"Please, Frodo-love," Sam murmured forlornly, and after a moment, Frodo slowly drew the chain from around his neck, and laid It once again on the table beside the bed.

"Outside of this room, Sam dearest, I still must wear It," he reached out, cupping Sam's face in his hand, and looking earnestly into Sam's troubled eyes, "but I will not let this accursed thing touch you, or us. In this place, Sam, we are safe, safer, for the moment, than in the Shire itself. It cannot hurt us within these walls, my dear."

Sam glanced down at his hands for a moment, trying to control his emotion, and then looked back up with renewed determination. "I trust you, me dear, to do as you see best. And now, I'll need to be lookin' to that shoulder of yours."

Frodo said no more, as Sam gently rubbed the salve into the wound, and skillfully bandaged it once again. Indeed, he was asleep before Sam had quite finished.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

The large copper tub had been set up in a curtained alcove that Sam had not noticed before off of the balcony walkway that ran behind the windowed wall of their room. Evening was not far off, and shadows lay long across the wide bed when he and Frodo had finally arisen, but the sky was still gilt, even though the sun had disappeared behind the western wall of the Valley. The small nook was lit, however, with white pillared candles set into clear sparkling glasses, so that the errant breeze from the valley below would not cause the flame to waver. The draperies that sheltered this secluded corner were not the white ones that flowed from the high bedroom windows, however, but were rather made of warmer and richer stuff, in brilliant deep oranges and rose, shot through with streaks of burnished gold. There were small intricately carved wooden tables next to the tub, with baskets of fragrant soaps and mysterious flasks with what appeared to be scented oil inside, as well as heaped towels, softer than any to which they were accustomed. And draped on a bench to the side were two robes, flowing and costly in appearance, and obviously too short for the accommodation of any elf.

"Looks as though they expect us to dress up for dinner, Sam," chuckled Frodo at the sight.

"Oh, that'd not be for the likes o'me," Sam glanced at the garments in confusion and not a small amount of horror.

"I suppose that will remain to be seen," Frodo threw his good arm tightly around Sam's shoulder and gave him a wry smile. "But we have been in these things rather a while. And for the moment, I would rather be in nothing so much as that delicious hot water," he added, eying it longingly, "and I expect those soaps make the most lovely suds."

"Then that's what we shall be doin'," Sam stoutly declared, resolving privately to worry about the question regarding dinner dress later. "Here, m'dear," he gave Frodo a hand in ridding himself of his garments as soon as possible. Following suit in short order, he insisted in stepping into the tub first, and gave a blissful sigh. "Ah, 'tis perfect, Frodo-love, how would they be managing that? Let me give you a hand, m'dear." And in no time at all, they were happily submerged in the warm water, Frodo's bandaged shoulder carefully up in the air, and his other arm draped around Sam's neck.

"How long is it since we've had a good soak, Sam?" Frodo sighed contentedly, closing his eyes and laying his head against Sam's broad shoulder.

"Well, I did have a quick one at Bilbo's, the other day," Sam answered truthfully, "but only as the elves wouldn't let me near you otherwise. An' they must have given you one at some point, but I can't say when, as it was before I got here."

"Mmm," Frodo murmured thoughtfully, turning to kiss Sam's neck, so temptingly close by. "I certainly don't remember that. But then, I don't remember much, after parting from you."

Sam said nothing, but his head drooped down, and his hold around Frodo tightened a bit.

Frodo gave him a quick glance and then continued on, as if resolved to persevere no matter how unpleasant the subject. "I may as well tell you everything that I learned this morning, Sam dear. It is only right that you should know it all."

Sam looked up quickly and carefully searched Frodo's face, with fear in his eyes at Frodo's suddenly somber tone, but he then unconsciously bit his lip and slowly nodded.

"Well, then," Frodo took a deep breath and stared past the golden draperies to the opening beyond that looked out into the Valley. "This Ring seems to have been created by the Dark Lord himself, Sauron. He is searching for It, for if he is able to recover It, his dominion over Middle Earth will be complete; even over," he added with a involuntary pause, "the Shire itself."

Sam gazed at him in bewilderment. "But how could something all that mighty end up in the chest of our front parlor at home? That's not makin' much sense t'me, no ways, Frodo."

Frodo shook his head slightly and continued. "Nor me, really, Sam, but somehow, in his travels, Bilbo picked the Ring up and brought It back to Bag End. Gandalf, when he left us last, went to consult the head of his order, the wizard Saruman, for advice as to what to do with It. But apparently, Saruman has fallen in with the enemy, and held Gandalf captive. That is why he did not arrive as he had said he would."

"The dwarves," he went on, as Sam sat silent and troubled, at his side, "have come to Lord Elrond for advice, since the Dark Lord has sent emissaries to them, asking of any news that they might give him of a certain hobbit, a thief, who had once accompanied them on a journey to the east, and had stolen a ring of power. He promised them friendship, and rings of power of their own, if they would but give him any information they might have, but there was also a threat behind those words if they did not assist him."

"Mr. Bilbo? A thief?" Sam cried, staring shocked at Frodo.

Frodo, though, frowned and trailed a hand absently through the water. "Bilbo was never all that clear about how he came about the Ring," he said, at last. "His story seemed to change from time to time. And he was not at the meeting this morning. I don't suppose he actually stole It, but there may be something irregular about how this object came into his possession."

"But that is not all," he turned back to Sam again. "There was also a man there, the son of the ruler of Gondor. He came because of a dream that came to him, in which a voice spoke forth in the midst of a storm, bidding him to seek the sword that was broken, here in Lord Elrond's halls, or else doom would befall his folk. It seemed to me that both Gandalf and Lord Elrond understood this riddle, but they would not speak of it yet. And there was more," his voice trailed off, troubled.

"What, Frodo? Tell me all, me dear," Sam urged him, alarmed by the look on Frodo's face.

"The last lines of the dream were these," Frodo replied, with reluctance. " 'For Isildur's Bane shall awaken, and the Halfling forth shall stand.' "

"Halfling?" Sam gasped in alarm, "That would never be us hobbits, now, would it, Frodo-love?"

Frodo nodded in begrudging agreement. "I'm afraid so, Sam," he said softly.

"Oh, now, that can't be good, no ways," Sam said in distress. "Hobbits have no business in the dreams of men far off in their mighty kingdoms. An' we'd be havin' naught to do with the Dark Lord's plans, surely. Was there none there that would be takin' this horrible thing off of your hands, and be seein' to It properly?"

Frodo shook his head sadly. "It seems that upon those with any powers of their own, the Ring acts quickly, and turns them to the will of the Dark Lord all the faster. That's why Gandalf would never touch It, and remember, Strider wouldn't either. Since I'm just an ordinary hobbit, it appears I'm stuck with It for a little longer, at least until they decide a course of action."

"I'm not likin' the sound of this, not at all," Sam whispered unhappily, tucking himself closer to Frodo.

"Nor I, dearest," Frodo held him all the tighter, burying his face against Sam. "Not in the least."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Sam walked at Frodo's side, valiantly trying to not feel quite foolish. They were wearing the robes the elves had left for them, and only the reluctant admittance that his one set of clothing could really use a bit of cleaning had forced Sam into his. Frodo was striding through the hallways of Rivendell as if he felt it to be entirely natural to be wearing a soft flowing garment. Sam did have to admit that the dark blue color was quite flattering on him. The subdued brown of his robe looked well enough, he supposed, but it still felt like something that he should be wearing to bed rather than in front of the keen eyes of the assembled elves. Not that he normally felt the need to dress for bed, usually. Not any more.

He gave Frodo's cousins a quick glance as they followed behind Frodo and himself. Surprisingly enough, they had both managed to keep a straight face at the sight of both of them, when they had shown up at the door to Frodo's room, and had mentioned that the elves had left behind similar robes in their room as well. In a touching show of solidarity, they had actually gone back to their room, and had changed. Merry was in a deep gold, and Pippin in a dark green, and apparently, it had been the right choice, for when they met up with Bilbo, he was wearing a richly ornate gown of silver hue. He gave all four of them an approving nod, and muttered, as he turned to lead them to the Great Hall, "Very good, lads. Custom of the country, you know."

But Sam's clothing was completely forgotten when they entered the Great Hall that evening, and Sam looked upward in wonder. He could not see to the end of it, but the columns were what caught his eye at first. For a moment, he thought that they were living trees, stretching loftily upward, but then realized that they were cunningly carved to appear so. As was the custom in the halls of Rivendell, the wall closest to the Valley was open, being only the height of the tables that were running along it which were heaped with tempting foods, most of which were unfamiliar to him. Along the top half of the wall, above the tables, was a series of spired arched openings, with graceful and beautiful carved figures posed in between. There were great fireplaces interspersed along the opposite side of the Hall, and as usual, the air was comfortably warm despite the openness of the great chamber. A long, seemingly endless table stretched through the center of the Hall, laid with beautiful swathes of rich fabric, and splendid goblets, plates, and cutlery. Flowers were everywhere as well, suffusing the entire Hall with a heady presence. The stone floors were nearly covered completely with elaborately patterned soft rugs, and the Eldar were comfortably arrayed there, as well as in the chairs along the great table.

There was music, and soft voices, and laughter, and Sam felt as though he was watching a scene that mortals were not privileged to see. But Bilbo, ahead of the other four hobbits, turned back to them with a pleased grin, and nodded. "Rather splendid, isn't it?" he chuckled. "Come along, lads, follow me, and don't stray, mind."

They meekly followed him through the Hall, Merry and Pippin as open-mouthed as Sam, and uncharacteristically silent. Frodo's expression was unreadable to Sam, however, and Sam drew just a little closer to him, and was only reassured when Frodo turned to give him a small smile, and unobtrusively took his hand. "Here we are, then," Bilbo stopped halfway through the Hall, in a small alcove that lay between two of the fireplaces. The other hobbits were both surprised and pleased to find Gandalf there, quite at home in a large comfortable chair, with an empty plate at his feet, and a filled goblet in his hand.

"There you are, my friends," he smiled welcomingly. "I'm afraid I could not wait for you, my dear Bilbo, for councils are wearying work, and the need for food would not be gainsaid."

"I'm afraid that trinket of mine is causing you all grief again," Bilbo laughed lightly, settling down in what was obviously his accustomed place, a small chair next to Gandalf's.

Sam saw the quick piercing look that Gandalf gave the elderly hobbit before he gave a rumbling laugh and placed an affectionate hand lightly on Bilbo's shoulder. "Not to worry, my old friend, we'll all sort it out, I'm sure." Glancing quickly up at Frodo, he added, in a light tone that did not quite match his intense gaze, "Why don't you find yourself something to eat, Frodo, and fetch your uncle a plate while you're at it?"

"That would be most kind of you, my dear lad," Bilbo looked up with a hopeful air. "I might add that they do sauces especially well here, although it's hard to go wrong, really."

Merry and Pippin eagerly perked up at this invitation, although it had not been precisely addressed to them, and quickly led the other two toward the heaped tables. In no time at all, they were all contentedly settled back in the alcove, with plentiful food and drink. Frodo was seated on a comfortable soft rug near Bilbo, well propped up by soft pillows, and Sam sat cross-legged at his side, his robe fortunately accommodating this. The other two hobbits, though, had settled for a high, elf-sized bench near Gandalf, the better to survey the Great Hall and its occupants, as they ate.

"Oh, there are the dwarves again," Pippin pointed out with interest, nodding his head in their direction. "But there are more than just the two, Bilbo. Quite a few more."

"Well, you can't expect two dwarves to venture into the lands of the elves alone, you know," Bilbo responded mildly, looking up from his chicken leg. "It took thirteen of them to come to even the Shire."

"They certainly didn't strike me as being particularly timid," Merry chuckled from Pippin's side. "Why is that, then?"

Bilbo gave a short snort of amusement at Merry's remark. "I'd advise not describing them quite that way within hearing distance. Actually, it's more that they tend to feel out of place, when they are away from their own mountain halls, and it gives them comfort not to be alone. And then there's this business with the elves."

"They don't get along?" Pippin asked curiously.

Even Gandalf had to chuckle at that understatement. "Night and day, my dear lad, night and day," Bilbo clarified, with a grin. "I suppose they got along once, but I doubt if even Lord Elrond remembers back that far. Normally, their paths don't cross much, but it is indeed a rarity to see dwarves in the halls of the elves. I expect Gloin is still wary, after that last visit we had with the elves of Mirkwood. Fortunately, I am far more prone to forgive and forget; otherwise I would not have found this wonderfully pleasing situation."

Frodo gave him a sharp glance, at that last statement, but said nothing as a sudden chord from a harp was heard to ring through the Hall, and voices immediately fell silent.

"Ah, there we are," Bilbo whispered to his guests with delight. "The master minstrel is ready. Now, you shall hear some singing, indeed!"

Sam closed his eyes as the melodies filled the Hall with their beauty, and his heart with hope. He did not recognize any of the words, but he understood them, nevertheless.

 

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It was quite late, and the room was only lit by moonlight, when Frodo and Sam returned to what had become their haven at Rivendell. Frodo had been curiously silent all evening, and as they had entered, he had shut the door firmly behind them, and, taking Sam unresisting by the hand, had led him over to the opened balcony, that overlooked the Valley of the Falls below. The air was still and calm, the draperies only faintly stirring, and the night sky was clear. There was an air of expectation about the night, and Sam suddenly realized that he was waiting.

Frodo had not told him all about the meeting that morning, he was quite sure of that. It wasn't as if he felt Frodo was hiding anything from him however, but it was rather as if there was something that Frodo hadn't quite worked through yet himself. That was why he had been so quiet through the dinner, and the singing. He had sat, lost in his thoughts, as if everyone and everything around him was part of a story that was happening all about him, but from which he was somehow far away, only hearing it told to him. No one else seemed to notice, except Sam had caught an occasional piercing glance, in Frodo's direction, from Gandalf, and whatever preoccupied Frodo, he had suddenly realized with a fierce certainty, Gandalf knew of as well.

But Frodo showed no sign of mentioning the morning's events again as he turned to Sam, in the brilliantly icy light, and stretched a hand up to the side of his face. "This robe looks quite handsome on you, after all, Sam," he murmured intently, his eyes dark in the shadowy moonglow, and steady on Sam's. "Such a fair-haired princeling you look to be."

Sam's eyes widened, startled almost as much by Frodo's tone as his words. "You know, Frodo-love, I'm naught but a simple hobbit, now."

Frodo's smile was quick, and instantly gone. "A simple hobbit? Others may think that of you, Sam, but I know far better than they. I watched your face, during the singing tonight, and saw it enter your heart. You've the spirit of a poet, my beloved Sam, but I've known that for so very many years." His hand was gentle but insistent, slowly traveling from Sam's cheek down the side of his throat and then back up again, to the back of his head.

"And a princeling needs to be brave, but you faced a great horror, as no hobbit has ever done, and would have willingly sought it again, and embraced it, for my sake." Frodo's voice was still low, and his other arm had by now swept around Sam's waist. "Hardly any, in all that great hall tonight, has ever been as brave as that, my dear."

"Brave, and poetic, my princeling, with the kindest and truest heart that I've ever known. And of course, beautiful," the last was nearly a whisper, when Sam threw his arms around Frodo's neck and caught him up in an intense, passionate kiss. "Oh, I never tell you that often enough," Frodo gasped hungrily, as they broke apart, "but you are, Sam, you are." His hand, lost in Sam's curls, splayed out and held him firmly as he lightly, but ardently, kissed Sam on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his lips.

Sam swayed heavily against him, still held closely by Frodo about the waist, and felt his blood run hot under Frodo's onslaught. Oh, this was worth anything and everything, and to be loved like this was worth any price that he might ever have to pay. He moaned fervently at Frodo's caresses, and threw his head back in ecstasy.

"I used to think," Frodo continued, as if unable to stop the words as he traced kisses down Sam's throat, the soft brown robe beginning to slip off of Sam's shoulder, "that I was responsible for you somehow. I suppose it was because you were so young when we fell in love, and I would never have wanted your gaffer to think that I had treated you ill." He paused then, his head rising back up so that he could look directly into Sam's eyes. "But I was wrong about that, wasn't I, Sam. It's always been your choice, hasn't it, to follow me, to stay with me. You're not my responsibility, and never have been, but rather my equal, my other half, as necessary to me as breathing the air itself."

For a moment, he was silent, turning to look out over the Valley, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, and then turned back to Sam once again. "Wherever we go, Sam, we go together. Whatever happens to us, will happen to us together. You are my happiness and my home, Sam, as you always have been, and I could never bear to be parted from you, never, not for any reason."

At that, Sam felt the tightness that had unknowingly been building in him all day long suddenly released, and joy flooded his heart. "I would walk the ways of this world to my last day, Frodo-love," he whispered, cradling Frodo's face with both hands, "and be as happy as the first day that ever I saw your beautiful face. As long as 'tis at your side, dearest, there'd be naught more that I'd ever ask for."

"Ah, Sam," Frodo's exclamation was both passionate and hauntingly sad, as he threw his arms tightly around Sam, and lowering his head, buried his face against Sam's chest.

"Oh, hush now, me dearie," Sam crooned softly, willing the tears not to fall, and coaxing Frodo wordlessly toward their bed. "Come to me, my own sweet love, and let tomorrow come as it may. Tonight is ours, dearest, ours alone."

Frodo stopped in the pool of moonlight that stretched across the floor and, stepping back, reached out toward Sam's shoulder. "You are right," he murmured, unfastening one more of the buttons at the neck of Sam's robe. "This night is ours, indeed." And with only a whisper, the fabric of the robe slid past Sam's shoulders and fell in folds at his feet.

"Well, now, these thing's be havin' their merits, after all," Sam smiled warmly into Frodo's eyes, copying his action and letting the other robe fall as well, leaving Frodo standing before him as naked as he was in the pale light. Almost naked, that is. Only the involuntary small intake of breath from Sam that made Frodo gaze back down to his chest. And then, with a slow but deliberate gesture, he raised his eyes back up to Sam's and without looking at the Ring once, lifted the chain from around his neck and, extending his arm out, let It drop to the ground.

"Not in here, dearest Sam," he breathed, "and never between us. It will never have that much power."

Sam made no answer to him then, for indeed, he had no answer that he could express in words. Instead, he threw himself into Frodo's waiting arms. "Ah, me darling," he moaned, his face finding shelter in the crook of Frodo's neck, and his arms tight around Frodo's torso.

"Yes, Sam, yes," Frodo murmured, his eyes closing, as he clung tightly to Sam, "whatever else happens, nothing could ever take this from us. Come, follow me," his voice fell to a whisper, as he began to move Sam toward the bed. "Let me love you, Sam."

Sam felt the back of his legs hit the bed, and he quickly turned to scramble atop it, but never letting go his grasp of Frodo's hand. Unconsciously, he tugged at Frodo's hand, urging him up as well, and then his hand fell away as he saw the expression in Frodo's eyes. Falling back against the pillow, he could only look up in a sort of wonder as Frodo knelt by his side on the bed, gazing down at him, the dark-lashed eyes catching the brightness of the moon with an almost unearthly clarity. Frodo leaned across him then and lifted his hand, bringing it to Sam's side. "Sometimes, you think you know a person rather well," Frodo murmured, as he leisurely stroked his hand up from Sam's side, up his torso, and lingeringly down his breastbone and lower, as Sam could not, transfixed, take his eyes from the face above him. "But then you find that perhaps not. That you are used to seeing this person, possibly, in a certain place, in a certain way." Sam's breath hitched, as Frodo's knowing hand paused for a moment, and caressed what so desperately wished to be caressed. "And that when everything about you changes," Frodo quietly continued, never watching his hand, but keeping his eyes still on Sam's, "you find that there is more to this person that you never thought to look for, that a lifetime really would never be long enough to truly learn all there is to know, that this person will continue to surprise you, and startle you, and change you, for the rest of your lives."

Bending over Sam then, he met his mouth in a long and searching kiss, his hand still expertly grasping and stroking, as Sam moaned helplessly, and drew his knee up, twisting his body into Frodo's touch. Throwing his arms up, he twined them around Frodo's neck and arched his back, surging up into the kiss. Frodo moved farther over Sam then, and he could feel Frodo's own arousal hard against his hip. Suddenly Frodo pulled away, and gazed back down at Sam with great seriousness as Sam froze, watching him with an odd expectancy. "And that is why, my beloved Sam," Frodo said quietly, "I cannot do what makes sense, what would be the best and right thing, when it comes to you. Even when I know the dangers and the jeopardy that I put you in, I can no more separate myself from you than part my heart from my body. There may be a day when you need to forgive me for this, but please know why."

"There'll never be that day, Frodo, never. That's my promise to you," Sam whispered roughly, as he reached up again to bring Frodo's mouth unresistingly back to his, one hand behind Frodo's head, and the other progressing lingeringly and hungrily down his back. Frodo's eyes slid closed, and he drew himself tightly over Sam, matching Sam's arching upward with a consummately delectable pressure, an enticing push upwards, a tantalizing pull downwards, and a more urgent motion of his hand hidden between them.

"Oh, Frodo, dearest Frodo," cried out Sam, throwing his head back and rocking under him, striving to bring them closer, indeed, impossibly close.

Frodo caught his breath, and lifting his head, buried it at the crook of Sam's neck. Their breathing coming in ever shorter gasps, their pace quickened, and the world around them was lost to the frenzy of their need to join, to connect, to become, for the moment, one. And then Sam heard Frodo's sharp choked cry in his ear, and felt the warm wetness suddenly cover his hip, and with that, he released into Frodo's hand, and Frodo collapsed over him.

Several moments passed before either could move, but it was Frodo who rose, and picking up a cloth near the bed, cleaned them off and prepared them for sleep. Sam lay, almost dazed, and felt that he should consider what Frodo might have been trying to tell him, but the bed was too warm and comfortable, his body was limp in the most lovely of ways, and Frodo slid in next to him in no time, gently cradling him in his arms, and brushing his forehead with light kisses. "My Sam, my own," he barely heard Frodo whisper before he slid into the most delicious sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Merry stared thoughtfully at his hands, his brow furrowed, and an unconscious frown on his face. His legs dangled over the edge of the parapet, the low stone wall which ran along the cliff top that overlooked the Valley of the Falls far below. He and Pippin had found this spot, the day before, and made their way back here early this morning, for it was a peaceful and secluded location in which to discuss matters of importance. Pine trees ran against this wall providing them with the sharp clean scent, and a sturdy, although rough, trunk against which to lean back. Neither of them having in the least any fear of heights, they found it quite amusing to hang their legs over the edge and, leaning forward, stare far down into the spray of the Falls, as it frothed from rock to rock to the Valley floor, scarcely to be seen in the mist beneath them.

"There something amiss with Frodo," he murmured at last, as Pippin sat at his side, patiently waiting. "And it's not his shoulder I'm thinking of."

Pippin nodded. "He's not speaking of the Shire any more. And neither is Sam," he replied quietly.

Merry sighed, the frown on his face deepening. "What's more, he still has that damnable Ring. I caught sight of the gold chain around his neck at dinner just last night."

Pippin leaned back in the needle-strewn grass next to the pine, propped up on his elbows, and waited for Merry to continue.

"He's not going back," Merry abruptly said, after a lengthy pause.

"No, I think not," Pippin whispered softly in reply, continuing to stare down into the mist of the Falls.

"You know Frodo," Merry continued, still frowning, still refusing to look at Pippin. "This loathsome thing has ended up in his hands, somehow, and if no one else steps forward to take responsibility for It, he will. I'm not sure if that means staying here, or going off somewhere else, but clearly it does not mean returning to the Shire, at least, not at this time."

Pippin remained silent, uncharacteristically, for several moments, before turning to Merry, and quietly asking, "And what does that mean for us, Merry?"

"I'm not sure," Merry replied, haltingly at last, studying Pippin's expression. "You know our families must be wild with anxiety, by now."

"No doubt," Pippin murmured, his eyes on Merry and his expression never changing.

"But, I cannot imagine leaving Frodo. Nor Sam," Merry continued to scrutinize Pippin's face, watching for any hint of disagreement.

But there was none. "Neither can I," Pippin said, quietly but firmly. "I suppose that settles that."

Merry nodded, silently, and settled next to Pippin, drawing an arm tightly about him.

 

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Sam was in a meadow, in the hills above Rivendell. Lindelhir had suggested that he take Bill up this way, for the grass was still fresh and green in this secluded glade, hardly dried by the autumnal chill, and he knew that if Frodo came looking for him, he would be directed this way. He had to think this out, he knew, as he had led a compliant Bill up the stony path; he had to think all this through. Yet when he had reached the peaceful dell, his mind had gone quite blank, and he sank down into the grass, his heart numb. Frodo was not going back to the Shire, that much he had realized. And, therefore, neither was he.

They were not staying here, either, he was suddenly quite sure of that as well. Bilbo might have found this a comfortable compromise, with many of the comforts of the Shire provided for him, and the company of the elves he loved so as well, but Sam knew that Frodo cherished their own cozy hole and their peaceful life together at Bag End, and was not looking to live elsewhere. It had taken the terror of being hunted, and the fear of bringing harm to others, to force Frodo out of the Shire and he knew, with a firm certainty, that Frodo would not return to the Shire as long as he felt that he brought the attention of evil back with him. And once again, matters were back to the Ring.

Sam shut his eyes tightly, burying his face in his hands as he sat cross-legged in the grass. There was nothing to be heard but the peaceful sound of Bill grazing nearby, and the high faint sigh of the breeze through the pines that ringed the glade, and the sun was gently warm on his head, but none of the peace all about him reached the turmoil in his heart. This graceful land seemed not to be touched by time's hand, and the seasons appeared to be but faint echoes of those he had known in the Shire, but Sam was too aware that even here autumn was halfway to its end, and winter was not long behind. Wherever their steps would lead them from here, it would not be a pleasant summer's walking tour.

"You're but borrowin' trouble, Samwise Gamgee," he desperately tried to chide himself, "and sure as all that's good, you'd be findin' it. You can't be helpin' Frodo, noways, if you've worked yourself all up afore knowin' what sort of a mess the both o'ye are up against." He tried to breathe deeply, and empty his mind of the whirling fears that filled it, and nearly did not feel the gentle hand quietly laid upon his shoulder. He did not open his eyes; there was no need. He knew that touch, and if he but kept his eyes closed a few more moments, he could still believe that they were on the hill behind Bag End, and Frodo had come to tell him that tea was ready, and steeping in the pot on the worn wooden table back in their snug kitchen.

However Frodo made no announcements, about tea or otherwise, but rather sank down onto the grass behind Sam, wrapping his arms tightly around him and tucking his head against Sam's back, and rested his forehead on Sam's rough tweed-clad shoulder. Reflexively, Sam's hands were up at once, clasping Frodo's, and, eyes still shut, he leaned back into the embrace.

"It must be destroyed," Frodo's voice came at last, so very quiet, and nearly diffident. "It will be the end of all that is dear to us, if It is not."

Sam waited, only tightening his grip slightly, for he knew, as surely he knew the earth was below him and the sun above, what would follow. And it did.

"None will, or can, take this burden from me, Sam," he heard Frodo continue, in a tone of haunting sadness. "It has come to me, to us, and it is we who must take It to Its destruction."

Sam allowed only the briefest moment of piercing grief to pass through his heart before he took a deep breath, and opening his eyes, twisted around in Frodo's embrace to face him. "Tell me all, love."

And Frodo did. He told Sam of the cold resentment and scornful ill-will that he had seen in the council, the flashes of hatred for elf from dwarf, the disdain from elf towards both dwarf and man, and the indifference of the man from Gondor to both elf and dwarf. None trusted the others to be accorded such a great responsibility, and yet none would accept the responsibility of the destruction of such an evil and divisive instrument of the Dark Lord's power. Rather they had all seemed content to let It lie in the hands of an unassuming hobbit from the Shire until finally, with a vast impatience for them all, and a growing, sinking premonition that somehow, this was meant to be his task, he had volunteered Its destruction. He told Sam of the sudden hush that had filled the room, and the look that Gandalf had given him, a curious mixture of pity and acknowledgement, and he knew that he had been right. This had been the task ordained for him, and Gandalf had always known it.

Gandalf had offered to accompany him, instantly, and Strider had as well. The man from Gondor, Boromir by name, had quickly spoken up, offering his services as guide to the lands of the south, but Frodo had to admit that he felt uneasy as to his reasons for assistance. Gondor was apparently expecting a war soon upon its borders, and the man had argued hard for wielding rather than destroying the Ring. And lastly, Gloin's son had offered his aid, and an elf from Mirkwood, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, not to be outdone, had immediately offered his assistance as well. "And of course," Frodo had added softly, "they know where I go, you go as well."

"A fine party, indeed," Sam said thoughtfully, once Frodo had finished. "But there'd be a pair more t'be considerin'."

"They're so young," Frodo murmured, his expression immediately troubled, and with no need of asking to whom Sam was referring. "Pippin isn't even of age yet. Both of their families need them so."

"Aye, no doubt as to that," Sam agreed, giving Frodo a steady look, and waited.

"Yet I know what they would say to us leaving them behind," Frodo gazed unseeingly at the golden light upon the green grass. "What do you think, Sam?" he asked after a few moments' silence, glancing back over to him, unhappily.

"That they'd be plenty old enough to know what they're about," Sam answered him, with a firm voice. "And that if you'd not be allowin' them that choice, they'd forever doubt themselves."

"We very likely will not come back from this journey, Sam," Frodo spoke softly, continuing to regard him steadily.

"I know that, me dear. And they'd know that likewise. But I wager we'll all be comin' back, or none of us'll be comin' back, depend on it, me love."

A small reluctant smile crept across Frodo's face at Sam's pronouncement. "And they call Baggins stubborn," he sighed.

"No more so than they ought t'be, Frodo-love," Sam said, with more resoluteness than he actually felt. "Near as I can see, 'tis a fault of hobbits everywhere. So you'd best get used to the pack o'us followin' at your heels."

Frodo threw his arms around him then, finding comfort once more in the loving return embrace of that sturdy warm form in his arms. "Very well, Sam," he whispered. "I'll ask them then. And I have no doubt but it will be exactly as you say."

Sam rested thankfully in Frodo's clasp, closing his eyes in the peace of the glade, and felt no need to ask more. The shadows of late afternoon had begun to lengthen before they left the meadow.

 

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The feasting and conversation, in a variety of languages, the singing and poetry and music, all of it was what the hobbits had come to expect in the Great Hall of Rivendell of an evening, but there was a subtle difference in the air this night. What concerned Merry and Pippin the most, other than Frodo and Sam's obvious distraction and the way neither one would quite meet their eyes, was Gandalf. Unlike the previous evenings, when he had sat smoking his pipe with clear enjoyment of the company that surrounded him, on this night, his expression was melancholy and preoccupied, and from time to time, he gazed about him as did one who looked upon a cherished scene for perhaps the last time. He did not smoke his pipe, but sat quietly, a forgotten goblet left in his hand, and his food untouched before him.

Pippin gave Merry a quick nudge. "Gandalf'd not be in the best of moods," he observed softly, giving an almost imperceptible nod in his direction. "Something's amiss, no doubt about it."

Merry's glance was swift, but confirmed Pippin's opinion. "We'd best be pinning cousin Frodo down tonight," he whispered. "It'd be just like him to give us the slip, you know."

"Over-protective by half," Pippin agreed, with a curt nod. "Perhaps we should be close at hand, when the pair of them returns to their room." Without notice by any of the rest, for those who would have noticed were too lost in their own thoughts this night, the two younger hobbits stealthily left the Hall, and made their way down the open airy corridors of Rivendell to the room that had become Frodo and Sam's. Drawing up a pair of chairs closer to the fire, they settled down to await their arrival.

It was not much later, when there was the sound of soft footsteps outside the door, and quiet murmurs as the door was opened. Instinctively straightening his back, Merry crossed his arms, as he sat in the chair closest the door, and fixed a stern eye upon the two hobbits who entered the room. Pippin, in the chair closer to the fire, uncoiled himself, and dangled his feet over the edge again (for in truth, these chairs had not been designed with hobbits in mind) and waited quietly, his expression, for once, entirely serious.

Frodo had entered the room before he saw the two silent occupants, and stopped short, his face revealing dismay, quickly followed by resignation. Sam, right behind him, was obviously not surprised, however, and gave the other two a glance of nearly hidden approval before calmly stepping over to the fire, and occupying himself by stirring it up a bit.

"Frodo," Merry's voice was soft but firm. "I suspect there is something you need to be telling us."

Frodo's head ducked down a bit at Merry's words, and turning from him, he clambered up wearily into the high bed. This immediately attracted Sam's notice, and in an instant, he was up on the bed at Frodo's side, arranging pillows behind his back and drawing a light coverlet over his legs. Frodo said nothing, but gave him a swift fatigued smile of thanks, and reaching out, grasped Sam's hand and pulled him next to him as he sat, leaning gratefully back against the pillows.

Merry continued to watch, saying nothing until Frodo was settled, although his face was clearly tense with concern. Then, in a quiet voice, he began. "Perhaps it would be easier if I began," he spoke calmly, but with authority. "You are not going to be returning to the Shire any time soon. That has been quite apparent for some days now. The Ring still hangs about your neck, so I assume you have been unable to convince anyone to relieve you of It. There has been an undeniable sense, in the last day or so, of affairs of importance in the wind, and Gandalf is looking particularly morose, so I am assuming you do not plan to continue to stay here. Therefore, you must take the Ring somewhere, or to someone, and I'm quite sure that this mission is wildly perilous. Past that, I am afraid I am at a loss, but I'm sure that you will be able to fill in the gaps."

A reluctant smile could not help but tug at Frodo's lips as he viewed his cousin with a grudging admiration. "Very good, Merry. Undeniably logical, and quite accurate, actually. But then, I would expect that from you. So I suppose my secret is out, and all hopes for a stealthy departure are dashed to bits."

"Really, Frodo, you wouldn't have done that now, would you?" Pippin could no longer keep quiet at Frodo's words, but burst out in dismay.

"Well, Sam had already convinced me it would be of no use, so you were quite safe on that account," Frodo's smile warmed slightly at Pippin's obvious apprehension, as Merry gave Sam an approving glance. Then the smile vanished, and he turned to Merry with all seriousness. "You have guessed it all, I'm afraid. The only matter that remains is the destination. That would be Mount Doom, where the Ring must be destroyed."

"Mount Doom?" Merry asked thoughtfully. "Not exactly a promising name, now, is it. The Ring certainly seems to be a nasty piece of goods, but tossing It into a bottomless pit somewhere is not an alternative?"

Frodo shook his head. "It's not a trip I'd be making if there were any other choice," he answered quietly. "That was where the Ring was made, and it is only there that It can be unmade. And it is only if It is destroyed that Sauron will never be able to use It to undo this world that we know, including the Shire."

Merry looked rather taken aback at this. "It really is all that powerful, then?" he asked softly.

The look on Frodo's face was enough to answer that question.

"Very well, then," Merry gave a slight unconscious nod of his head. "So that matter is settled. It's Mount Doom for us, and no doubt being chased by those same odious creatures that followed us here. I can't imagine that a good wetting got rid of them for good, and they did seem quite intent on making mischief for us. But perhaps we can get a good head start on them this time. How far is this Mount Doom, anyway?"

"I'm not too sure actually," Frodo confessed, looking suddenly quite tired. "I've been looking at maps and such, but it's really quite confusing. It does seem like a very long ways away, and there's not exactly much of a road. Apparently, it's rather in Sauron's back yard, and no one seems to ever go there."

"Really?" Merry gave him a dubious glance. "And they expected you, and presumably Sam, to find your way there somehow?"

"Well, there are some others who would be going with us," Frodo began reluctantly, suddenly finding the coverlet of great interest. "Strider, of course, and Gandalf as well."

"Hmm. Useful sorts to have along, I would think. And?" Merry prompted, watching Frodo closely.

"Gimli, as well, you know, Gloin's son," Frodo added slowly, still plucking at the coverlet and not meeting Merry's eyes.

"Bilbo has always had a high opinion of his father, and dwarves in general, for that matter. I expect that he'd make a good traveling companion. And?" Merry continued to press.

"It appears that if a dwarf goes, the elves feel compelled to send a representative as well," Frodo couldn't help a small wry smile at this point, "and so Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood will be accompanying us as well. And then since our route lies, at least at the beginning, along that of Boromir of Gondor, he will accompany us as well."

"So. A dwarf, an elf, two men, and a…, well, whatever Gandalf is, and then you and Sam," Merry stated flatly, folding his arms across his chest. "It certainly seems as though a couple more hobbits are sorely needed, if you ask me. What do you think, Pippin?"

"You are, as you so often are, Merry my dear, absolutely right," Pippin nodded emphatically. "They're still one up on us, but I think the addition of two more hobbits improves the company immensely."

"You realize that it is entirely possible that we might never make it back to the Shire?" Frodo murmured softly, raising up his head and intently watching both of their faces.

"I did mention this all being wildly perilous, didn't I?" Merry questioned him, somewhat shortly. "I quite believe I did. I think we do know what we're getting into, Frodo, or at least as much as Sam does. I don't think you can expect any of us to blithely bid you a safe journey and then toddle on back to the Shire without you. We are with you, of course. If you are throwing yourself into hazard's way, then we are, as well. And that's quite all I want to say about that."

"I can see I really don't have a voice in this matter at all, do I?" Frodo slowly replied, the wry smile returning to his lips.

"Of course not. You know we would have tracked you and Sam down if the two of you had decided to bolt, don't you?"

"Yes, and Sam would probably have dropped bread crumbs or the like to help," Frodo laughed slightly. "Very well, it's the four of us then. No point in thanking me now, for I'm sure that you'll regret it at great length later, but it is awfully kind of the both of you, and I can't deny that I'm very grateful."

"Yes, we are noble like that, no doubt about it," Merry replied, with an air of nonchalance that did not fool any of the others. He rose then, and motioned to Pippin. "But you are looking rather gruesome, Frodo dearest, if I may be so blunt. Sam, do see that he gets some sleep. There'll be plenty of time for plotting and conniving come morning."

 

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The next morning, Merry accompanied Frodo to Lord Elrond's chamber, where the final planning and preparations for the quest were being conducted. It was generally acknowledged among the four that Merry had by far the best head for maps and directions and that sort of thing, and Frodo was inexpressible grateful for his cousin's silent support as they entered the room filled, by this time, with dignitaries of all the peoples of Middle Earth. He had been feeling quite overwhelmed as the only hobbit there, although he would never have admitted that fact.

But Merry strode in at his side, gave a swift glance at those assembled in the room, and immediately busied himself with the details of the planning with all the efficient, confident air of the born commander. Since none of the others present were acquainted with him, aside from Strider and Gandalf, he received some askance, rather incredulous, and even amused glances, which he studiously ignored to Frodo's quiet satisfaction. The maps had muddled Frodo quite thoroughly, to his dismay, and he had been feeling entirely in over his head, but now it seemed as hobbits were to have a more substantial role in this enterprise than simply being the transporters of dangerous goods. He watched with pride as Boromir, at first haughty and skeptical, soon began to explain their projected route with a little more thoroughness, and nodded thoughtfully at the occasional point Merry brought up.

Merry, of course, was quite in his element, with all his years of training to become the Master of Buckland being brought into play, and there were no further mutterings from those assembled as to the wisdom of additional hobbits apparently inviting themselves along. Elrond had, however, drawn Gandalf slightly aside and had quietly asked if it was wise that Frodo bring his kinsmen along as well, but Strider, who had overheard, deferentially but emphatically indicated to the both of them that he thought it prudent that all four of the hobbits stay together, if they wished it so.

"I have been with them, in the most difficult of circumstances," he reminded the elf and wizard respectfully, "and I have seen how they draw strength and support from each other. And they are surprisingly hardy travelers. It would be well for us, I believe, if all four go."

Elrond's expression was still troubled, but he listened thoughtfully to Strider, and turned to Gandalf. "I still have misgivings. The younger two are of considerable importance to the Shire and their families, I understand, and will be greatly missed. But you know these folk well, Gandalf, what do you say on this matter?"

Gandalf gave a glance toward the engrossed Merry, and Frodo at his side, his face finally without the tension that had been quietly worrying Gandalf these past few days. "They will be missed, certainly, but no more so than Samwise," he finally stated with a small smile. "But it would never do to underestimate a hobbit. They can stick to their purpose in a manner that can put a dwarf to shame, and those who consider them soft and careless folk do so at their own peril. If Meriadoc and Peregrin are determined to accompany us, then they will, whatever we might think of the matter, and certainly it is fortunate for us if they do."

Elrond nodded. "So be it," he proclaimed softly. "It is the Fellowship of the Nine, then."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

While Frodo and Merry spent the morning in council, Sam decided that it was time to make his own preparations for the journey ahead. He found Pippin in the grand room that he and Merry shared, seated cross-legged on the balustrade that overlooked the gorge below. An apple was in his hand, but was untouched, and his expression was distant and somewhat forlorn as Sam quietly entered the door-less chamber. Giving a polite cough to announce his arrival, he couldn't help smiling as Pippin whirled around with an exclamation of relief.

"Oh, Sam, I thought you were shut up with the other two," he gave a cheery grin, all traces of wistfulness immediately gone.

"Ah, that'd not be for me," Sam shook his head emphatically. "Frodo's not the best with maps, I have t'be admitting that, but I'm hopeless. 'Tis good t'have Merry helping him out, no mistake. I'm sure the Big Folk know what they're about, but it doesn't hurt t'have a hobbit in on it likewise."

"Well, luckily for us all, Merry is ever so good at that sort of thing," Pippin beamed with pride. "I've never known him to get lost. But what is there left for us to do, Sam? We should be able to help out somehow, you know."

"I was plannin' on checking up on Bill," Sam replied, "and thought you might like to come along."

This was quite agreeable to Pippin, and in no time they were strolling down the dusty road, lined with stately pine and cedar, down to Rivendell's stable. "Would you be knowin' much about ponies, then?" Sam asked after they had been walking for awhile in a comfortable silence.

"Oh, well, you know my father is quite fond of them," Pippin answered with a chuckle. "I supposed I've picked up a bit from him, as well as the stable hobbits."

"That'd be fine," Sam gave him a relieved smile. "These elves, they'd know all there is to know about their great horses, but a pony is a different matter, I'd be thinkin'. I know naught, meself, so it'd be that fine if you could just check him out a bit, so as to make sure he's ready t'leave with us."

Pippin gave a laugh. "For not knowing anything, you surely managed to improve his looks, even before we got here."

"Naught but a little attention and care," Sam replied softly. " 'Tis all most creatures need."

"Sounds easy enough," Pippin gave him a warm glance, "but it's more than the rest of us could have done, I suspect. He certainly will be a far more useful companion than some of the others coming along with us though. Somehow, I can't imagine that elf carrying an especially heavy pack."

Sam gave a wry grin at that thought. "Mayhap he's like Gandalf, who never seems to need one. I don't know how they manage it, no ways, wanderin' about the countryside with naught but a cloak on their backs. It's one thing t'be findin' the food as you go along, but for meself, I prefer to have a pot t'cook it in, after I catch it."

"A sound philosophy, Sam, and I'm certainly glad you feel that way on the matter," Pippin gave him a cheeky grin. "But here we are. Where do you suppose they have hidden Bill?"

Bill was soon produced and greeted Sam with a nicker of delight, and a swift nuzzle of Sam's pocket, where the apple he had brought was soon discovered. "His coat is looking thicker," Pippin remarked approvingly as Sam led the sturdy pony from the stall and towards the path behind the stable that he had become accustomed to using.

"Just as well," Sam sighed, glancing at the trees along the way to the glade. "It's that hard, to be sure, to know what time of the year it is here. Seems like autumn, rightly enough, but I'd not be surprised if it don't always feel like autumn in these parts. Something to do with the elves leaving, mayhap. But anyways, it is autumn, certainly, and winter is hard behind. 'Tis not the best of seasons to be startin' off on a walking trip."

"Good point," Pippin replied, with a bit of a frown. "I don't expect that you've mentioned that to Frodo?"

"Oh, aye, I have, but there's no time to waste, seemingly, and we can't be puttin' this off until the spring. It wouldn't be botherin' me near as much, though, if Frodo had only a little more time to build up his strength."

"He does seem to tire easily in the evenings," Pippin's frown grew. "I don't suppose saying something to Gandalf would do any good?"

"Nay, he can see that as well as I," Sam shook his head. "No, we'll be off in a day or so, like it or not, so it's all the more important that Bill is doin' well, you see? At least Frodo can get a bit of rest on him from time to time, if needs be."

Pippin fell silent, then, for the rest of the way to the glade, and when they had reached it, and Bill had contentedly turned to the fresh grass, he leaned against the rough truck of a tall spruce and gazed, with a distant expression, past Sam, who had hunkered down in the meadow next to Bill. "Sometimes, it all seems to have happened so suddenly," he murmured, nearly inaudibly. "Sometimes, it seems as though we've just left the Shire on a bit of a hike, and then I realize that it may be spring, and perhaps even summer, before we see the Shire again."

Sam looked up quickly, catching something in Pippin's voice.

But Pippin continued, still not looking at Sam. "And I wonder what my mother will think, when I'm not there for Yule, and my father, when I'm not there to help with the planting, not that I've ever been as much help as I ought to be."

Sam rose immediately and was instantly at Pippin's side, wrapping his arms around him without a word.

"I never got to say good-bye," Pippin whispered then, tears now falling as he grabbed Sam's jacket and buried his face against his shoulder, his voice thick. "It wouldn't have been so bad, if I just could have said good-bye. And Merry says they can send a message, and I suppose that's all right, but it's still not really the same, is it?" He gave a sharp sob then, and still not looking up at Sam, tried desperately to control his voice again and timidly added, "You don't think this is just because I'm too young, do you, Sam?"

"Not a bit of it, Pip, dear," Sam assured him without hesitation. "I only had a few moments with me da, meself, but I was that glad for it, even though it hurt something fierce. 'Tis a hard thing, choosing between those we love."

Pippin nodded, and then, somewhat awkwardly, withdrew himself from Sam's arms. But Sam straightened up without comment, and reached in his pocket for a handkerchief, sympathetically offering it to Pippin.

"Merry has to do that, too," Pippin gratefully took it and gave his nose a rather noisy blow, causing Bill to glance over in bewilderment before returning to his luncheon. "I left without one, of course."

"It was in that much of a scramble when we left," Sam commented with understanding. "I'd have packed Frodo's heavier jacket, had I but known. Well, naught to be done about that now." He turned to pick up Bill's rope, and softly continued without looking at Pippin, "And you'd not be too young, don't you be frettin' yourself about that. You've a good head on your shoulders, Pip, and I've not seen a better one for understandin' what goes on in a body's heart. Don't you worrit on that score. We're all just as scared and homesick as you, no mistake. But there's what needs doin', and we must be seeing that through first. Your family'll understand, when we get back."

"So you do have hope; you do think we'll be getting back then," Pippin breathed, and it wasn't a question.

"Aye, that I do," Sam gave him a sharp, nearly stern glance as he started to lead the pony back to the stables. "That's what I have t'be thinking, and I'd advise you t'do likewise. I'm not much use for the planning, and such like. All I can do to help, Pip, is to do everything I can, each day, to make sure we get to the next day. I know I can do that. An' if we keep on doin' that, then someday, we just have to be gettin' back. 'Tis but plain hobbit sense. I expect you can call it hope, if you like, but it's the same as makes no difference."

"You are right, Sam," Pippin stared back at him with a determined set of his jaw. "One day at a time generally does do the trick, doesn't it?" And he strode back to the stables, at Sam's side, with renewed vigor in his step, but not before giving a rather startled Sam a swift kiss on the cheek.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

When the hobbits arrived for dinner in the Great Hall, the evening before departure, there was a familiar face missing. Bilbo was not to be found in his customary chair next to that of Gandalf. Frodo questioned the wizard with some alarm, but Gandalf shook his head with a mild smile. "I spent the afternoon with him, and he was getting rather tired when I left," he told Frodo gently. "I do think he would appreciate a visit from you tonight, however."

Frodo gave him a searching look. "He knows we're leaving then," he murmured.

Gandalf nodded, as Frodo turned swiftly to Sam, who had been quietly standing at his side. "I'll pack for the both of us," Sam assured him with an understanding look. Frodo grasped his shoulder tightly for a moment, and left without another word.

It took several knocks on the round door before Frodo heard the sound of footsteps and Bilbo's customary grumble. "No need to pound on the door so, Frodo-lad; one would suppose you thought I'd gone stone-deaf. Come on in, I'd thought you might be stopping by." He motioned Frodo in, with a sweep of his arm, a pipe firmly clamped between his teeth. "I was just looking through my things… Oh, bother. Have a seat, my lad."

With an apologetic glance at Frodo, he pointed to a seat close to the fire already burning brightly in the small parlor, and immediately scurried from the room down the hall. He returned before a mystified Frodo could become too worried, with a couple of puzzling bundles in one arm, and a bottle of what was unmistakably Old Winyards in hand as well. "I just thought…, well, we might as well have a bit of this, don't you think?" he mumbled, dropping the bundles in the other chair, and crossing the room to draw a small table near to where Frodo sat. Frodo watched him, bewildered. It was so unlike Bilbo to be, well, almost nervous, it suddenly seemed to him. He nearly had the sense that Bilbo did not wish to meet his eyes, somehow.

The elderly hobbit was now fussing about with the bottle, muttering something Frodo could not quite catch, when Frodo finally had to ask, "Uncle Bilbo? Is there anything wrong?"

Bilbo stopped still at his words, and when he turned around to Frodo, after a moment's silence, with the bottle still unopened in his hands, Frodo was stunned to see that there were tears in the old hobbit's eyes. "I'm not very good at this," Bilbo whispered shakily. "That's why I didn't have the courage to do this last time. This saying good-bye, you know."

Frodo rose up without a word, and fondly embracing Bilbo, he gently took the bottle out of his hand and placed it with care on the table. "I knew that," he said softly, with a slight smile. "I never held it against you, you know."

Bilbo closed his eyes with a small breath of relief. "Well, I've felt guilty all these years about it, anyways."

Frodo gave him a swift kiss on the forehead, and led him to the other chair. "No need," he stated firmly. "I can't say I ever knew why you left quite so abruptly, but I was always sure that your reasons must have been valid."

Bilbo, looking somewhat calmer, gave him a wry smile. "Love of dramatics, most of all, I'm afraid. And there would be no point in the rest of that lot pestering you about where and why I had gone, if you clearly did not know yourself. But you had come of age, you know."

Frodo, who had sat back down and was busily screwing the cork from the bottle, jerked his head up in some surprise. "What? Was that really why you left?"

Bilbo shrugged. "Oh, I must admit my feet were itchy to be off, and I was beginning to worry as to how long before I'd not be able to stand up to the road, but really, that was the reason for that particular piece of timing. It was rather obvious that you were never going to be able to take your rightful place as Master of Bag End as long as I was hanging about. Too many hobbits were still just seeing you as that Brandybuck lad I brought in purely to spite the Sackville-Baggins, not that that wasn't a side benefit, I might add, but they seemed not to notice that you had quite grown up, and very nicely, too. It was a rather theatrical entrance into Hobbiton society, admittedly, but there you were, the Master, and there would be no choice but to treat you as such." He paused for a moment and gave Frodo a suddenly suspicious gaze. "They did, didn't they? Treat you properly, I mean?"

Frodo turned his attention back to the cork. "I'm afraid it did take some time for a few of them," he confessed, popping it out and pouring wine into the pair of goblets that had been on a shelf nearby. "But eventually most of them gave in to the notion that I was the best they were going to be getting, along that line, and accepted me. Even Lobelia was beginning to bend a bit, by the end. Lotho's been rather of a disappointment to her, I'm afraid."

Bilbo accepted the glass Frodo held out to him, giving him a shrewd glance over the rim as he sipped thoughtfully. "I see I'll have to be asking Sam, if I want more particulars," he commented dryly.

Frodo took a swallow himself, and then gave his head a rueful shake. "He's rather biased, you know." He picked up the bottle then, giving the label careful scrutiny. "I had no idea, really, that Old Winyards had made it this far from the Shire."

Bilbo gave a sudden snort of laughter at that comment, not at all fooled by Frodo's show of nonchalance. "Oh, no, my lad, turnabout's fair play, after all. My turn to ask a question or two. So how did all this business with Sam come about anyway? I can't imagine old Hamfast was especially keen on the notion."

"Erm," Frodo began, continuing to study the bottle very closely, but quite unable to keep from flushing a bit. This was a conversation he had never thought to have. "I suppose it's hard to say, really. How do such things happen, anyway? Sam moved into Bag End the summer after you left. His father, as you guessed, was more than a bit displeased, initially, but Sam felt that he was old enough to decide such matters for himself."

"At what, twenty, twenty-one years of age?" Bilbo continued to question him softly.

Frodo's flush definitely deepened. With a hint of defiance in his expression, he raised his head and gazed, with a sort of pride, directly at Bilbo. "It was not too young for him," he stated firmly. "It was Sam's choice. And I do know it's a choice that neither of us has ever regretted, not for an instant."

Bilbo, watching his reaction steadily, gave him a sudden smile. "Good for you, my lad," he chuckled. "You always had a fine head on your shoulders, but it's clear you have a fine heart, as well. Not that I had any doubts on that score, of course. Bold and brave, you have certainly turned out to be." Then his face fell suddenly serious. "Which is just as well, given this business you are setting off upon."

"I know, Gandalf doesn't think I know the half of it," he continued, as Frodo's expression suddenly became somber as well, "but this old hobbit is not nearly as easily befuddled as he seems to think. It's that Ring again, and if there is anything that I could wish for, it would be that I never picked It off of that wretch Gollum and brought It to you, putting you in harm's way. It would only be right for me to take It off to wherever It has to go, and don't think I haven't suggested just that to Gandalf, several times too. But he thinks it would all be too much for me, and quite possibly he's right, so It falls into your hands, my dear. It would seem that you have become my heir for both good and evil, and that is something I never would have wished for you, Frodo, never at all. You should be spending the rest of your days at Bag End, with Sam at your side, in the Shire that you both love so, instead of following your feckless uncle down all the byways of this world, trying to right the wrongs he has done. I am so very sorry to have brought this on you, lad."

He rose to his feet abruptly then, before Frodo had a chance to respond, and walked over to the chair where the bundles lay. "There's no use in me giving you any advice, I think, but perhaps there's a few other things that I can give you instead." Picking up one of the bundles, he drew off the cloth that wrapped it and held the object out to Frodo.

Frodo gasped in wonder, reaching out his hand impulsively to touch it. "Mithril," he breathed.

Bilbo nodded. "A whole shirt of it, too. Made for an elf princeling ages ago. I just never liked the idea of it collecting dust in the mathom house in Michel Delving; somehow, it was just too pretty a thing. So I kept hold of it. But it seemed like it might be the sort of item that would come in handy if I had to barter my way out of a difficulty, so I took it along when I left Hobbiton. But it's certainly doing me no good here, and I would just sleep a little better at night, knowing that you were wearing it, Frodo dear."

Frodo took it from Bilbo then, still staring at it in admiration. "So light," he marveled, turning it in his hands.

"And sturdy," Bilbo added, beaming with pride. "There'll be no arrows or swords piercing that, my boy, I can assure you. And that's not all," he turned back to the other bundle and produced a gracefully wrought sword, which he also held out to Frodo.

"Sting," Frodo whispered, recognizing it at once.

"Quite right, my dear. It wouldn't do to leave on this mission unarmed. No, no, my lad, no need to say aught about it," he added hastily seeing the expression on Frodo's face. "There's really little that I can do to help you, but I'll be easier knowing that you have these on you." Frodo did not attempt to speak, then, but threw his arms around the old hobbit and held him tightly, letting both the coat and the sword fall unheeded to the floor.

"I'll come back, uncle dear, and tell you about it all, I promise you," he whispered against Bilbo's white curls, fighting his tears. "You can add it to your book."

Bilbo said nothing but held him just as tightly, his eyes squeezed shut but the tears running down his face regardless. Finally, with an obvious effort, he straightened himself up and took a furtive swipe across his face. "Mercy, but that fire is smoking something fierce tonight. But you can't let an old hobbit keep you; it'll be early enough that you leave tomorrow, if these elves have anything to say about it."

Frodo nodded, and gathered the gifts back up in his arms, not trusting his voice to say anything. Leaning over to the shorter hobbit, he kissed him tenderly once again on the forehead, and turned to leave.

But Bilbo caught him by the arm just as he opened the door. "One more thing, Frodo," he stated with deep feeling. "Never doubt that that which you carry is evil, Frodo, never let It trick you into thinking that the Ring can be used and a price not paid. I once thought so, but now that I have been away from It for a time, I know it is not so. Even now, even in the safety of Rivendell, though I know you carry It about your neck, I dare not look upon It again for fear of what It might yet be able to do to me. And I can't forget the poor wretch that I took the Ring from, and what It had done to him. You have not had It as long, Frodo, and I'm sure that you have not been so careless with It as I was, but be as cautious as you can with It, my boy. If that thing should bring more harm to you…" He dropped his head down then, his words failing him.

"I will take all the care that I can, dear Bilbo. I will not let you down," Frodo murmured, reaching under Bilbo's chin and gently lifting his face. "I will see that the Ring is destroyed, not only for the sake of the Shire, but for both our sakes as well. Trust me, my dear uncle."

Bilbo watched him leave, walking resolutely out into the darkened courtyard, until he was out of sight and then he crumpled against the doorframe, covering his face with his hands.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

There was little moon this last night, but the room was dimly lit by a single taper, near the bed, when Frodo quietly entered. There were two neat packs by the doorway, one noticeably larger than the other, and Sam's pans were carefully stacked next to them. Sam was sitting propped up on the bed, still wearing the elvish robe that had become their customary dinner attire, and his face was in the shadows, so that Frodo was not sure if he was still awake or not. But as Frodo cautiously placed Bilbo's gifts next to the packs and quietly approached the bed, he saw Sam move, and the candlelight suddenly shone on golden curls and the eyes, dark brown in the flickering shadows, that watched him tenderly. "Come here, me dear," Sam's voice was low and soothing, with no questions, and Frodo drew near him with relief and gratitude, feeling protected from both his burden and his grief.

He stopped himself though, just before climbing upon the high bed, and impatiently pulled the robes that he had also been wearing over his head. Then, more slowly, he drew the chain from around his neck over his head, and glanced sadly at Sam. "I won't be able to take this off again, once we leave this place, not even for the night," he murmured, and held it out over the side of the bed, letting it fall unseen upon the luxuriant robes.

"I know, Frodo-love," Sam replied quietly. "Let me see your shoulder, me dearie." He reached out a hand to him, and Frodo saw that the small jar of salve was lying on the bed at his side. Crawling across the broad expanse of mattress, Frodo was at his side in a moment, and nestled back against the pillows as Sam's strong fingers gently probed the pale disfigured shoulder. "It's mended, I suppose," Sam frowned, examining the knotted raised scar carefully, "but it never should have healed like this." He started to say something more, but then shook his head, and opened the jar.

Frodo sighed and let his head fall back, closing his eyes. He could not deny that he felt rather drained, come evening, and the long days ahead were not the type of thing to which he was looking forward. From what seemed like far away, he heard Sam's soft voice. "Does it still hurt, Frodo?"

"Not so much hurt," he murmured truthfully, his eyes still closed, "as feel as though there's a chip of ice lost somewhere inside, a bit of coldness that can't be warmed from the outside. I expect a splinter of metal was left in, but I don't think there's much that can be done about it now. I'll get used to it, I suppose."

He opened his eyes then as he felt a light kiss brush it, instead of the expected salve, and found Sam watching him sorrowfully. "It should never have happened, Frodo, not to you, no ways."

Sam said no more then, but with a comforting touch, rubbed the salve into the raised whitened skin. Frodo watched his face in the candlelight; Sam's attention, as always, focused on what he was doing, and couldn't help himself. "We had the perfect life, back in Bag End, didn't we, Sam, dear?"

Sam gave him a sharp glance, but turned his attention quickly back to Frodo's shoulder, and made no comment, waiting for Frodo to continue. "And most perfect things in this world can't last forever, I'm afraid," Frodo went on softly and almost unwillingly, but feeling the need to explain this melancholy mood that was settling around his heart. "So we must remember it, when we need to, for I fear that the days ahead will be hard for us to bear, sometimes."

Sam's hand stopped its movement at those words, and Sam stared at it without speaking, as if trying to collect his words. "It's naught what we left behind as was perfect," he finally said, almost gruffly, and not looking at Frodo's face. "It's what as is still with us."

Frodo gave a slight gasp at Sam's words, and then flung a greedy arm around Sam's shoulder, bringing Sam's willing mouth to his for a passionate kiss. "But what," he breathed as Sam finally straightened up over him, his face in the shadows again and unreadable. "But what if we lose this? Nothing is permanent in this world, Sam, and there is danger and uncertainty everywhere. And if I lost you, Sam? Oh, if I lost you?"

"You could have lost me back in the Shire," Sam replied, tenderly stroking his face. "Trees fall, lightning strikes, folk get sick. You can't be thinkin' that way, love; you've got to trust that we'll be gettin' through this. You just see if we don't."

"What I trust is you, Sam," Frodo whispered, reaching for him.

"Then trust me, me darling, for you'll never have reason not to," Sam answered with fervor, and reaching out for the candle, snuffed out the flame without looking at it. Frodo felt Sam's hand now, in the dark, sliding down his side with its perfect knowledge of his contours, soft and rough both together, with that curious texture Sam's hands always had against his skin. There could never be enough darkness for him not to know this touch in an instant, not to feel his skin delight in this caress, not to feel himself harden in anticipation.

"Sam," he whispered, his own hands trying to brush aside the fabric that still covered Sam, seeking that welcoming body that had given him so much joy for so many years now. He heard an almost inaudible chuckle before those beloved hands left his side and gave a sharp tug to the fabric that he was struggling with. Then there he was, in Frodo's grasp, gloriously warm and strong, with those compact muscles that moved so smoothly under the skin, and the rounded belly that Frodo had always secretly almost envied him. With a moan, he grabbed his shoulders, tugging and pulling him impossibly close, and over him. Sam's hand had again found his side, but the movement was harsher now, greedier, and craving still more, Frodo arched up his back under the pressure of Sam's body.

He knew what he wanted this night. It was going to be a very long time before they found another bed, that he was quite sure of, and there was no reason for them to waste this last opportunity. He wanted Sam, with no reservations about the next day's journey, and he could feel by the answering response of the form writhing slowly on top of his that Sam felt the same. "The salve, Sam, the salve," he gasped, and found Sam's mouth again.

"Frodo," Sam managed to get his name out between kisses, and there was a distinct note of worry in it.

"Scold me all you want tomorrow, dearest, but Sam, I need you so tonight." Frodo's yearning plea could never be disregarded by Sam, however, and despite what his hobbit common sense was reminding him about early starts in the morning, and Frodo's none too robust condition at the present, his body betrayed his answering desire, and he ground himself slowly against Frodo.

"Ah, Sam," Frodo cried out at that sensation, and his hand blindly flung itself out, groping for the small jar. Gratefully, he closed his fingers around it and lifting it up, stroked Sam's arm with it. "Here it is, dearest. Oh, please, Sam," he panted, arching his back higher.

Any thought Sam might have once had as to discouraging Frodo in this matter was now quite gone, however, and he grasped the jar eagerly, and rolled to one side of Frodo. The fragrant cream was slick to the touch, and dipping his fingers into the polished glass jar, he pulled them out quickly and found Frodo. With a wild choked cry, Frodo thrust himself up into Sam's grasp, clamping his own hands over Sam's, gripping them so tightly that Sam had a dazed thought that surely there would be marks in the morning. But the feel of Frodo was inflaming his body as well, and with a moan, he found Frodo's mouth again, claiming it fiercely as his slick hands stroked down hard, and pulled up slowly. Frodo twisted in his grasp, and his hands moved upwards and seized Sam's shoulders powerfully. With a hidden strength that never failed but to catch Sam by surprise, he tugged Sam close to him and threw himself into Sam's caressing strokes.

With a groan, Sam grabbed blindly out for the jar again, dipping his fingers in the salve, but this time it was Frodo's wiry hand that found his first, snatching the ointment from his fingers, and plunging itself between their bodies. This time, it was Sam who cried out and ground forcefully against the body under his own. Frodo gave a long shuddering breath at that, his body becoming taut.

"Oh, Sam, now!" he pleaded, breaking one hand away from Sam long enough to grab a pillow and thrust it under his hips. Sam sat back on his heels next to Frodo, not daring to touch himself for fear of not being able to last. Frodo's knees were spread wide now, and as his hand neared Frodo, he felt Frodo snatch it, guiding the fingers in with a desperate urgency. With a near scream, Frodo jolted up as his fingers entered him, his hips arced above the pillow, in a wild attempt to force Sam's hand in deeper.

Sam had no more restraint left. Tugging his fingers quickly out, he found Frodo unerringly in the darkness, entering him forcefully and without caution. He heard his name being gasped wildly beneath him, and felt Frodo's nearly feral movements as he arched up again and again, his knees clasping Sam's body tightly. "Sam, Sam!" he barely heard Frodo sobbing out below him, as the blood rushed through his ears, and his body moved instinctively, all discipline quickly vanishing beyond control. He felt Frodo's hand between them, jerking frantically, and the feel of it and the sound of Frodo's harsh breathing in his ears was entirely more than he could bear. With a mighty groan, he drove into Frodo one last time, and froze, feeling the all-compelling pulsing pass the brink, and spill irredeemable forth. Hearing a last uncontrollable cry, he was aware of Frodo's hips wrenching up one last time and coming to a quivering halt, and the warm wetness spilled between the both of them.

He collapsed to Frodo's side, and held his hand as Frodo's chest heaved in an attempt to catch his breath. It was only then that Frodo was able to roll against him, and bringing Sam's hand up to his lips, kissed it over and over, whispering his name.

"Oh, Frodo, me darling, me own love," Sam breathed tenderly, wrapping his other arm around the still too thin shoulders. "Don't you worry, don't you fret now, me dearest. You rest here, against your Sam, me love, and sleep well. I'll always be here, for there ain't nowhere else I ever want to be, Frodo-love, no ways. Sleep now, me darling, sleep."

And Frodo drifted off into deep and dreamless sleep.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

There was near silence the next morning as the company left Rivendell. Frodo was at the head of the procession, accompanied by Gandalf, with Aragon close behind them. The elf from Mirkwood followed next, his head proudly up, gazing straight ahead. Merry and Pippin, walking closely together, proceeded the man from the south, Boromir, and behind the rest trod the dwarf Gimli in his heavy boots, and Sam, bringing up the rear and drawing Bill along with him.

The morning was dreary, with grey skies, and the hint of rain in the air, and Frodo felt an unmistakable sense of loss as he left the path down to the Ford, at Gandalf's direction, and proceeded up the less traveled road into the valley below the elves' sanctuary. Trying his best not to appear too obvious, he gave a fleeting look back at those who followed him, but Sam was hidden by the rest of the company. With a concealed sigh, he turned back around again and set his feet upon the road south.


End file.
